Creature Fear
by end1essly
Summary: A late-night meeting in the Minister's office threatens the entire peaceful existence of Hermione's short life. What in the bloody hell is Draco Malfoy doing half naked on the doorstop! Revision beginning 11-14-09
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: _The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling, Scholastic and WB. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story.

Author's Note: This fic is probably a little bit different from what you're used to, but I like it this way. Rated a Strong M for language, violence and sexual content. Thanks so much to evenstar101 and Indie for betaing:)

Chapter 1

It began innocently, as all great and fantastic stories do. Hermione was working late, holed up in Cho's office pasting tiny cartoon figures onto an elaborate seating chart. The room was like an aftermath of an apocalypse, papers strewn every which way, dirty teacups and tissues covering every solid surface, an overturned inkpot producing a brilliant scarlet puddle on the plush carpet. Hermione groaned, knowing that the place would have to be positively spotless before she could go home and snuggle in her warm, fluffy bed.

It wasn't as if she didn't like working as Cho's assistant: Indeed, most of the time Hermione could do as she pleased during the workday, as long as she informed the newly elected Minister of her appointments every half hour. Even the coffee runs and emergency shopping trips were doable, because Hermione got to masquerade as a high-maintenance heiress. She could almost pretend she were Cho, demanding that her latte be exactly the right temperature and special ordering snakeskin sandals from Tokyo, in exchange for a salary that kept her living in a comfortable flat in downtown London.

While Harry chased crazy wizards and Ginny dealt with a tyrannical Quidditch coach, Hermione had access to the Ministry's infinite research resources, working on her book about the history of Wizarding Cooperation in Britain. It really was quite interesting; spending her weekdays wrapped in a tome on the 13th century while her fellow employees shuffled around the office like the world was coming to an end. It was true; Hermione _nearly_ had the perfect job.

The brunette frowned as she almost beheaded the cartoon Kingsley Shacklebolt, who would be sitting to the left of Dedalus Diggle. "Damn Roger," Hermione muttered, applying a thick coat of Elliott's Attaching Elixir to the back of a pissed-off Kingsley. Today had been a downright _nightmare_, as Cho and her on-again, off-again fiancé Roger Davies called it quits for the fourth time since Hermione had started working for Minister Chang. Hermione rolled her eyes as she began to craft the Bulgarian Minister of Magic, her eyelids quite droopy.

_That__ is the problem with Cho_, Hermione thought to herself. It was no surprise that the charmingly beautiful, intelligent, and considerate Cho was chosen to succeed Rufus Scrimgeour. After all, Cho had been in Ravenclaw and enjoyed a lofty position in Magical Law Enforcement before being promoted. However, despite her long list of virtues, Cho had one enormous vice: sensitivity. One of Hermione's chief tasks was to hide _The Daily Prophet_, for her boss would burst into tears at any Ministry report that cast her in a less-than-favorable light. When it came to romance, the waterworks certainly hadn't stopped with Harry, for Hermione would have to console a distraught Cho fortnightly about the long-dead Cedric Diggory and now that stupid ponce, Roger Davies.

Perhaps it was all the estrogen that pushed her into socializing with Harry and Ron nearly every weekend. After all, she and Ron had been casually dating for years, and Harry preferred to have Hermione's quiet sensibility around to neutralize Ginny's fiery temper. Despite the fact that she hated dancing, she allowed Ron and Ginny to drag her to wizarding clubs every now and then, although Hermione thought that their persistence would diminish considering that she'd drunkenly snogged Seamus Finnegan two weeks before. Needless to say, Ron was _not happy_.

Hermione stopped and surveyed her handiwork, the seating chart nearly halfway completed. Cho was absolute rubbish with names, and since she'd spent the entirety of the day sobbing, had asked Hermione to replicate the seating chart for tomorrow's important Ministry-wide social. Hermione would be there as well, collecting calling cards and writing down any new appointments that Cho might promise to various Ministry employees. The brunette had picked up a black cocktail dress for the occasion, knowing that no one would notice her next to the stunning Cho, who would be wearing emerald green.

How Hermione longed to get back to her research… She was just beginning to approach an exciting part in Magical history when the Triwizard Tournament was established, when the three European schools were finally united in magical peace! Hermione was horribly excited to get her book published within the next few years, considering it her greatest contribution to Wizarding Britain. In the meantime, she had to do silly grunt work so that Cho Chang wouldn't embarrass the piss out of herself.

Hermione sighed, setting down the bottle of paste to check the time on the ornate Louis XV clock. "Eight o'clock!" Hermione swore, slamming her head down on the desk. "Bloody Hell! The things I do for that woman…" Her head found a comfortable spot resting on her arms, and she let out a deep, contented breath. _I suppose I could take a nap since I'm going to be here all bloody night,_ she thought irritably. _I've already finished three hundred of those damnable things, deserve a break._

Hermione had been sleeping deeply for a few hours, when someone attempting to open the door to Cho's office, quite earnestly, interrupted her peaceful slumber. The brunette sprang up in her seat and glared at the jiggling doorknob, her curls alive with static electricity. She strode over to the offensive door, ready to give whomever it was a piece of her mind for scaring her so late at night! Honestly! Her honey-brown eyes became wide at the shocking scene that met her on the other side of the solid piece of walnut.

Draco Malfoy was standing in the corridor, all two metres of his pale, delicately muscular body put on display before her. He was wearing nothing but an embarrassingly small pair of underwear, the garment certainly causing Hermione to fixate on his rather large… _region_. What struck her most was the deep scarlet flush that settled on his high cheekbones, and his beautiful hands that began to run worriedly through his platinum hair. The fact that the blond had a silvery chain encircling his wrists, handcuff-style, slipped Hermione's attention in her perusal of his perfectly formed bone structure.

"Oh gods, this is so humiliating," Draco croaked out, his deep baritone unknowingly causing Hermione to wet her knickers. "I… I… just, don't tell anyone about this, okay?" The blond wrapped himself in a trench coat and was out of sight before Hermione could even respond, her face permanently frozen in a shocked expression.

It was several minutes before Hermione could process what she'd just seen and not until she was sitting back down in a chair and certain that she hadn't had any Firewhisky in the last twenty-four hours. "What… the… fuck?!?!" she shrieked, rubbing her temples in confusion, shifting uncomfortably at the wetness between her legs. "Why would Draco Malfoy, of all possible people, be at the Minister of Magic's office at eleven o'clock in the evening?!" she reasoned, getting up to pace a bit.

She hadn't seen Draco since she'd left Hogwarts nearly five years before. Like the other families of Death Eaters, he and his mother had been placed in a special Witness Protection Program, most of which were outside Britain altogether. He'd turned himself in soon after Dumbledore's death, claiming he was completely neutral and never wanted to harm another person for the rest of his life. Then the Malfoys had simply vanished, Lucius serving his life sentence in Azkaban. To see Draco again in such a vulnerable position was nothing less than unfathomable. His demeanor was so unlike the air of superiority he had exuded back in their Hogwarts days. Why would he be walking around at night, where a crazy wizard would certainly attack him, revengeful over the atrocities committed by his father, Lucius, during the Great War?

Hermione distractedly stared at Cho's mahogany bookcase, a million questions going through her head that no book could ever answer, a very first for the petite witch. What would the Minister of Magic need from Draco Malfoy, dressed in such an inappropriate outfit? And for the life of her, why could Hermione not get his delectable body out of her head?

Hermione nearly hit the ceiling when her wand began to vibrate the next morning, signaling that it was indeed time to get up for yet another torturous workday. The brunette frowned at the dancing object, which was emitting red sparks and whistling loudly, and ceased its motion by grasping it firmly. After drunkenly stumbling into the bathroom and loading up with several cups of coffee, Hermione headed towards the office, Cho's planner in one hand and the morning news in the other. The sky outside was still dark as she commuted to the Ministry, using the handy entrance that was located in a run-down Muggle playground not so far from her flat. It was so early that Ernie Munch hadn't arrived yet to harass visitors over the suspiciousness of their wands, but Hermione had a little bit of information she wanted to look up before her busy day with Cho officially began.

Seeing as her position allowed her certain liberties, Hermione took a visit to the first floor, where the Ministry registry was housed. Why it was placed in an obscure office was beyond her understanding… The book was thousands upon thousands of pages long and had information on every witch and wizard in Britain! Hermione was allowed unrestricted access to the book, for Cho hated the thing and made her assistant look up any information she may need about her constituents, such as the marital status of a potential paramour or whatnot. Hermione hoped the book had the answer to the Malfoys' current living situation, purely for research purposes, of course.

Hermione had tossed and turned all night, unable to get Draco's horrified face out of her logical mind. His presence at the Ministry had shocked her to the core, suggesting a duplicity that she hadn't thought Cho capable of. The young woman had done nothing but whine all week about the faults of the male gender, while she was cheating on Roger with the mysteriously handsome Draco Malfoy. Hermione frowned as her heels clacked against the stone floor, mad at her traitorous mind for adding such adjectives to the spineless git that had made her life at Hogwarts pure hell. She didn't know which of them to be angrier with: Cho for her scandalous double life, or Draco for his… sexiness? No! Hermione shook her head angrily, turning into the small "office" that housed the registry, her slim frame fitting into the space that was no larger than a broom cupboard. No, Draco Malfoy was no better than a male prostitute, showing up to the _Minister of Magic's office_ in such an offensive manner. Hermione wouldn't be surprised if he actually _were_ a male prostitute! To think what would have happened had she not been there and Cho had been the one to answer the door… Hermione shuddered, turning the immense book's pages towards the "M" section.

To Hermione's dismay, the Malfoys were indeed still in London, living in Brixton of all places! Their flat was located close to Loughborough Junction, which alarmed her, for no sane wizard would live in such a dangerous place. Brixton may have been a pleasant place to live before the Second World War, but even after living in relative bliss for the twenty-three years that comprised her life, Hermione knew that Loughborough was the place to score some serious drugs, both Magical and Muggle. This new fact worried Hermione, for the last time she had seen Narcissa Malfoy in passing had been at St. Mungo's, when Ginny dislocated both shoulders for the fifth time. The once-stately woman had looked shrunken and sad, and the healer's warnings about her nutrition were spoken loud enough for Hermione to absorb, standing halfway down the hall.

Hermione's humanitarian heart swelled, thinking of the poor woman suffering. Her son the gigolo could writhe in agony for all Hermione cared, but Narcissa Malfoy, who had provided vital information to the Order during the Great Battle, didn't deserve to live in such squalor. Suddenly, Hermione knew what her after-work plans were.

Hermione chuckled to herself as she signed the little blue memo, the parchment flying quickly out of her little cubicle. Harry had asked her for the fourth time which tie color went best with slate grey, judging it an important enough issue to use Inter-departmental memo. Why he couldn't ask his fellow Aurors (_"You've seen them, they're a bunch of wankers! Creevey doesn't even wear matching socks half the time!"_) or Ginny (_"She's away in Romania at a game; I can't very well send her an owl and hope it doesn't fly right onto the pitch!"_) for fashion advice, Hermione honestly didn't know. It had been a hectic day, and Harry's constant badgering hadn't made her workload any easier. Cho was in an absolute tizzy, seeing as she had gained enough weight to the point that her niece called her plump and had an important bill she'd authored fail, both in the same exact day! Hermione had shut her up in her office with a box of tissues and Darjeeling, telling her boss to focus on the speech that she was to give that evening.

Hermione had been on her feet nearly all day and was glad to be going home early, eager to exchange her heels for something more comfortable. Then it was off to the Malfoys' for a visit, and if Hermione had any luck, Draco would be nowhere within a three-kilometre radius. Around six in the evening she would have to be at Cho's penthouse in Chelsea to help her superior put on her gown, go over her speech, and solve any last-minute disasters. Then she could go home and stumble into bed, thanking the gods that tomorrow was indeed Friday.

Hermione Flooed home, trailing a spectacular cloud of dust, knowing that she had no time to take the usual stroll back to her apartment and opted instead for wizarding transportation. Once inside the comfort of her bedroom, Hermione shed her clothing, walking around completely nude save for her stockings. She may have been a straight-laced, no-nonsense woman in public, but there was something seductively empowering to Hermione about being naked within the confines of her own home, as if she had a sexy secret that no one knew about. Such an exciting kick was quickly halted as she slipped on the necessary undergarments and pulled her cocktail dress out of the closet. It was relatively modest, made of a black silky material that fell to just above her calves. Black lace lined the v-neckline, and the fluttery sleeves were made of the same lacey pattern. A thick black sash defined her waist, but Hermione knew that no one would pay her the slightest attention, due to years of forgetting how to apply glamour charms and enchantments that would help tame her bushy mane. She tied her hair up in a bun, grabbed a pair of ballet flats and a jacket, and joined the other walkers milling about on the busy London streets.

After taking the tube and nearly being beheaded by a pair of housepainters, Hermione arrived at the Malfoy residence, a shabby little flat squeezed in between a butcher and an abandoned optometrist's office. The brunette stood nervously on the sidewalk, debating whether she should actually knock on the door or go surprise Harry with tea like a sane witch would. Summoning all her Gryffindor courage, Hermione delicately pressed the buzzer, taking a step back in case the Ferret came barreling through the entrance. A few moments later, the door creaked open just a fraction, one bright blue eye staring out inquisitively.

"Hermione Granger?" came a reedy feminine voice, the door opening slightly more.

"Narcissa Malfoy?" Hermione replied cheerfully, a shy smile gracing her lips, "I saw that your family was still living in London and just thought I would stop by a visit?"

Her reasoning sounded weak when spoken, making Hermione cringe at her own stupidity. She barely knew the Malfoys, what was she doing meddling in their lives? Surprisingly, her friendly manner seemed to win over Mrs. Malfoy, who opened the front door to reveal a pleasant smile on her pale face. She was just as sickly and spindly as when Hermione saw her at St. Mungo's, her blond hair lank and dull. Luckily, Narcissa's overall appearance was saved by her bright countenance, making her look as considerate as Molly Weasley.

"Oh, do come in!" Narcissa responded in a motherly tone, ushering Hermione into the very small, and very dark hallway. "We don't have much, I'm afraid… it's a good thing we never have visitors, it'd be simply embarrassing to entertain. Actually, I think you're the first to come see us!"

Hermione's eyebrows rose, viewing the portrait of a rose garden while Narcissa shut the door, blocking the busy bustle from the street. "I'm your first visitor?" Hermione inquired. "How sad! I hope I'm not interrupting anything…"

"Oh, not at all!" Narcissa exclaimed, leading Hermione the few feet to the sitting room/kitchen, which was the size of Hermione's room back at her parents' home. "Draco's sleeping of course, and I was just about to make some tea… I'm afraid we don't have any biscuits…"

"Oh, tea is just fine," Hermione responded softly, sinking into a worn armchair next to the little fireplace. Her big brown eyes took in the interior of the room, a few small chairs and a shaggy carpet matching the slate color of the walls. Narcissa sighed as she brought the tea set in, noticing Hermione's speculative gaze. Hermione's eyes fell upon a silvery chain that linked Narcissa's wrists, surprised that it limited none of the blonde's motion.

"Oh yes, the place is depressing, but what can we do?" Narcissa replied glumly, shaking Hermione from her thoughts. The older woman settled across from the brunette, gently stirring in her teacup.

Hermione responded with a small smile, it slightly faltering with the taste of the tepid, flavorless tea that she was served. Narcissa seemed nothing short of ecstatic that Hermione had come to call, eyeing the brunette excitedly.

"So, Miss Granger, what do you do?" Narcissa asked inquisitively, "Are you still working for the Ministry?"

Hermione's smile grew, despite the fact that she felt so overdressed in the tiny, shabby flat. She balanced her saucer on one knee, determined not to drink one more drop of the disgusting concoction. "Why, yes, I do. I'm working as Minister Chang's personal assistant."

Narcissa choked at Hermione's last words, quickly recovering before Hermione could come to her aid. "Thank you, my dear," Narcissa coughed out, dabbing at her mouth with an embroidered handkerchief. "So, Cho Chang's assistant? That must be a very… interesting job!"

"It certainly is," Hermione responded slowly, eyes still large from the unexpected interruption and the bizarre situation she found herself in. "Does Draco work at a Ministry office? I daresay I haven't see him in quite some time…"

Narcissa's eyebrows shot up into her colorless hairline, mouth parting slightly. "Oh no, no, Draco doesn't work for the Ministry, he's—"

"—working at a bloody Muggle diner!" interrupted Draco, who had stumbled down the stairs and into the parlor, hair mussed and irritation painted across his face. "Granger, what the fuck are you doing here?"

Narcissa sucked in a copious amount of air as Hermione stood up, face flushing a deep scarlet shade. "Mal-Malfoy! I thought you were sleeping!"

"I was sleeping," the blond snarled, shooting the brunette a dirty look. "But Mother had another one of her coughing fits, and I could hear it through the fucking floorboards! Mother, when are you going to see a bloody physician?!"

Narcissa squeaked, joining the couple on her feet. "It was nothing, Draco, don't worry. And give our guest more respect! Such horrible language in front of a young woman, you should be ashamed! Is my darling Draco still twelve, or a grown man?"

The fire evident in Draco's smoky grey eyes dampened, and he turned to his mother apologetically. "I'm sorry, Mum. I can't blame it on sleep… but it's been a long time."

"It has been a long time," Hermione responded quietly, causing Draco's intense gaze to settle on her face once again. The brunette was careful to avoid his eyes, not wanting to soil another pair of knickers on his behalf.

"Why don't we all sit down," Narcissa chirped, snapping the duo back to reality. Draco looked around the sitting room and sighed.

"I'll fix myself a cup of tea. I'll join you and Miss Granger in a moment."

Hermione got a bit of a thrill from hearing her name on Draco's lips, his sharp accent making it seem musical, seductive, like a call to a most beloved lover. While Narcissa began to prattle on about events in _The Daily Prophet_, Hermione watched Draco busy himself in the kitchen, one sinewy forearm reaching for the tea. He was even more beautiful than she had remembered, milky skin striking against the white button-down and black work slacks. And that silvery-blond hair that fell into his eyes and curled around his shirt collar… Hermione tried her best not to drool, which was made easy by another Narcissa coughing fit.

"Mother!" Draco exclaimed, by her side in a flash, "Breathe slowly, breathe slowly. Does it feel like there's something in your lungs?"

Hermione was on Narcissa's other side, gently rubbing the frail woman's back, eyes transfixed on Draco's face, the young man looking positively magnificent in his fear. He gently pressed a handkerchief to his mother's mouth, brow relaxing as Narcissa's coughs lessened.

"It feels like there's…fluid," Narcissa choked out, as Draco heaved her childlike body up and into his arms like a ragdoll. Hermione gasped softly, placing a hand over her mouth as Draco walked his mother up the stairs, presumably putting her to bed.

"Mum, you've most likely got pneumonia… We need to see someone…" Draco's baritone drifted softly down the stairs while Hermione stood in the parlor, feeling as if she'd opened up a can of worms. She swiftly collected her handbag, and was out the front door in a manner of moments. The brunette was about to turn the corner when she heard a familiar voice cry out, the sound of footsteps approaching.

"Granger! Granger, wait!" Draco called, as Hermione spun around to see the blond heading in her direction, hair tousled about by the wind. The young man stopped before her, setting a hand upon her shoulder in an affectionate gesture.

"Listen, Granger… I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be so rude, I've really just forgotten how to socialize," he apologized awkwardly, a sheepish grin on his face. "And I about shit myself when you caught me last night, and I was worried you'd told mother about my sheer stupidity."

Hermione felt a shy grin creep onto her features, although the tightness in her chest from witnessing the previous scene did not disappear. "It's okay, Malfoy. I had no right to barge in your house in such a manner, and it seems like you've got enough problems to deal with…"

Hermione could see sympathy in the tempest of his silvery gaze, and Draco approached closer, a long finger brushing her face. "You're crying, Granger," he whispered, and Hermione suddenly noticed the wetness that had lined her eyes since leaving the Malfoy residence. Draco's skillful, calloused fingers brushed her tears away, and the blond gave her a half-smile, holding out his arm.

"Shall we?" Malfoy asked nicely, "I know this nice little park a few blocks from here. I feel like we should come to an understanding." The chain linking his wrists together was somewhat menacing, but Hermione guessed it would cause her no harm.

She nodded gently while taking hold of his bicep, letting herself be lead down the street to their destination. She had no idea what the fuck was going on, and had certainly not expected going on a walk through Brixton with _Draco Malfoy_ of all people, wearing a black cocktail dress and flats. He was looking down at her wistfully, obviously not as affected as she was by his scalding touch, his feet leading a confident path down the street.

"She likes you, you know," Draco replied quietly, clutching her arm the slightest bit closer.

"You mean, your mother?" Hermione responded confusedly, her brown eyes meeting his grey ones.

"Yes. Mother usually hides from strangers, the fact that she let you in was extraordinary. I daresay she'll want you to visit again, once she is feeling less under the weather."

Hermione smiled softly at the ground, a few people staring at the couple while passing on the street; they seemed like such a perfect pair, the brilliant blond and the vivacious brunette.

"Might I ask," Draco continued, his voice taking on a slightly suspicious tone, "Why you came by my apartment the night after seeing me in only my underthings?"

Hermione's face flushed bright red at the memory, her mouth falling open in ungraceful embarrassment. She tried to organize her thoughts, but found that she could only babble incoherently in response.

"Well… you see, I wasn't being a stalker, exactly…"

Draco let out a booming laugh, an absolutely adorable grin lighting up his entire face. "Ah, I see… So you _were_ just hoping you could see another glimpse of this delicious body!"

Hermione blushed again, noticing that pathetically, his observation was partially correct. "You're making fun of me, you prat! No, I simply noticed that you were still in London, and I thought that was somewhat unusual…"

The blond had been smiling up until her last words when a gloomy cast fell over his face, thin lips forming themselves in a frown. "Oh yes… we still live in London, unfortunately."

"But why?" Hermione questioned, brow furrowed, "The Witness Protection Program for Death Eater families was specially designed to keep you safe and far from harm!"

Draco laughed harshly. "I don't know about 'safe and far from harm', but it is true that through the program, most of the witches and wizards are placed abroad. Ours… is a special case."

Hermione's eyebrows raised, following Draco as he rounded the corner, the park just a few paces away. "But why? Seeing as your father was one of Voldemort's most trusted associates, wouldn't it be best for you to leave the country?"

Malfoy sighed bitterly as the two of them passed through the archway, his thin frame detaching from Hermione's and settling into a swing. "The problem with the Witness Protection Program is," Draco began, as Hermione sat in a swing by his side. "Is that Pureblood families are relocated, then virtually ignored. As you can see by our charmed bracelets—" Draco gestured to the thin silver handcuffs, "—we are unable to do any sort of magic, verbal and non-verbal, and are barred from working for any sort of Magical Institution— such is our penance. The only medical care we are able to receive is Muggle, which frightens my mother, further worsening her condition. Blaise always complains that being in the program is worse than death, and sometimes I have to agree with him."

His reverie finished, the blond dreamily looked to the distance, the creases in his forehead belonging to someone three times his age. Hermione was horrified by his words, but tried to give him some comfort by ever so gently setting a hand on his arm.

"But you've got a job, so you can support your mother! What's wrong with that? There are many unemployed in such times…"

"Believe me, I know," Draco responded with a soft chuckle. "It feels like all I do is work anymore… eight hour shifts at the diner, spending the wee hours at—"

At this point, Draco stopped talking, looking back at Hermione nervously, his Adam's apple bobbing anxiously. "Never mind me," he said, a smile slipping onto his features. "Things aren't so bad."

It had always been Hermione's job to be perceptive, not only as a member of the female gender, but as a daughter, friend, and employee. Despite her anxiety concerning the big meeting in just a few short hours, in which she'd have to fake a smile and follow Cho around like a lapdog, the brunette could tell that something very, very fishy was occurring inside the Malfoy household, something that would require Draco to retreat into himself.

"Malfoy," Hermione asked softly, leaning in his direction. "What is it? You can tell me… Are you selling illegal cauldrons?"

Draco looked back at her with incredulity, and then shook his head with a small laugh. "Cauldrons? Merlin, Granger, what the fuck do you take me for, a Creevey? No, I don't deal in cauldrons… But if I tell you this, mum's the word, okay? Especially to your boss!"

Hermione raised an eyebrow at the mention of Cho, but nodded, holding up her hand in an oath. "I swear, Malfoy. You've got enough bloody misfortune in your life."

Draco's gaze drifted to her own, the steel gray orbs deeming her unable to move in their brilliance. His large hands reached over to cover her smaller ones, Hermione clutching the swing chain in nervousness.

"Hermione," he spoke softly, just above a whisper. "It's insane, it's twisted and wrong and I hate it… but I'm Cho Chang's Pureblood Pet."

To be continued…


	2. Chapter 2

_Disclaimer: As always, own anything, I do not. *sigh*_

**Hugs and kisses should be rained upon my lovely beta evenstar101, for helping me find the mistakes when I've poured over the chapter a million times, while simultaneously making me giggle:)**

Chapter Two

To say that Hermione was shocked by Draco's admission would be an immense understatement. Even the terms "flabbergasted" and "astounded" were miniscule in the face of Hermione's emotional seizure, her heart taking upon a frenzied pattern, the excess blood needed rushing from her face. Indeed, it was almost too much for Hermione's tender humanitarian heart to take, blankly staring at Draco for several minutes before replying. The blond was concerned at the witch's frostiness, clasping her hands in an affectionate manner that would have set Hermione into giggles were she in her normal state of sanity.

"Pureblood Pet?" Hermione finally croaked, a bit of her usual flush returning to the current porcelain hue of her skin. "What…the…"

"—fuck, I know. I know, I know, I know, Hermione, it's fucking horrid," Draco responded, biting the edge of his lip and looking away, long eyelashes lowered. "After the unpleasantness settled down, I thought things were going to be okay. Father had failed us years ago, and I thought I'd be able to create something from the fragments our lives had become. Finally take care of my mother, who after serving my father loyally for years earned nothing but shame and regret. I thought I could do it the Muggle way, after all, I've been taught that Muggles were filth, worthless…"

He trailed off, the air around them thick with melancholy, Hermione recovering enough to realize that Draco was beginning the silent, deadly crawl into the shelter of his ribcage fortress. She'd seen the process time and time again in their Hogwarts days, the descent into the cruel, unfeeling wisp of a boy positively heartbreaking to watch. Even then, when she'd been conditioned to hate everything about him, her heart would race at the slightest sign of his misery.

"Malfoy," Hermione began softly, hoping to coax out the reason for his despair. "But why you? And what exactly is a 'Pureblood Pet', anyway?"

Malfoy sighed deeply, the expression on his face when he glanced back at her infinitely older than his twenty-three years. "The owl eventually came, informing that I'd been selected as the new Minister's pet," Draco continued, voice low and soft. "And I am now at her beck and call, sometimes for personal favors, but usually just to clean her flat. As they say, there is no rest for the wicked…"

The slender blond rose from his seat, covering up his discomfort by meandering over to the rickety old bar, where he began to do furious pull-ups, handcuffs moving fluidly with his movements. Hermione was hot on his heels, brow furrowed, feet scattering gravel in all directions.

"But Malfoy," Hermione replied, trying not to notice that Draco's shirt rode up slightly as he moved, revealing a flat stomach and a white-blond trail of hair leading southward… "That's horribly illegal! You should go to the press with your story, have Cho be responsible for the horrible crime she's committing!"

"Listen, Granger," Draco replied, hopping from the bar and rubbing his hands together gently. "It's not illegal, for Cho is the only reason why my mother isn't begging on the streets. I'm not proud of what I must do, but my family sinned, and we are paying the price."

Hermione's mouth opened, horrified, but her words were cut off by an increasingly angry blond. "I know your whole life has been dedicated to helping others," Draco continued, his tone taking upon a slight sneer. "But _don't you dare_ pity me. I can take care of my mother, whether it means using my body or not."

Malfoy raised an aristocratic eyebrow, as if he was challenging the transfixed Hermione to counter his furious argument. Satisfied, the young man brushed off his trousers and turned away from the brunette, back muscles visibly shaking from anger.

"You're welcome to visit my mother," Draco began, with a tone of finality. "But I'd rather you leave me alone. Don't try fighting for someone who doesn't need the help. We Malfoys have been ostracized enough by Wizarding society."

He looked over his shoulder at Hermione, a half-smile gracing his perfect features, only to start walking towards home, hands stuffed in his pockets. Hermione watched him leave with a sinking heart; surprised at the attachment she had formed to the blond in such a short period of time. Shown by the tightly controlled movements of his body, Draco was in a state of deep malcontent, and Hermione couldn't resist wanting to help the resigned "bad boy". He may have tormented her in his younger years, but this was so much bigger than petty insults towards her bloodline. Here she was, writing a book about cooperation and respectful dealings in Wizarding Britain, and there was vast injustice happening right underneath her nose!

Hermione's shoes crackled noisily as she strode purposefully out of the park, seeking the nearest Apparition Point. Draco may have expressly denied her help, but Hermione would never take no for an answer, and was determined to bring this secret depravity to light. Using all the knowledge she had as an accomplished witch and scouring as many books as she could get her hands on, she would decipher this puzzling conundrum. Before any of this could take place, however, Hermione simply had to survive a Ministry meeting without viciously murdering her hypocritical boss.

* * *

Hermione arrived at the Ministry Banquet Hall a few minutes after Cho, clutching a chai tea and a turkey sandwich in her left hand, Cho's daily planner and a pen in her right. She'd been stewing over the utter duplicity of her boss all afternoon, to the point that she'd nearly forgotten to eat! Hermione had been livid for hours, attending to Cho in near silence, watching the young woman run around like a emerald-swathed chicken with its head cut off, clutching a note card with a death grip. How dare Cho? How dare she walk around like she was perfectly charming and blameless, when the fate of a family rested in her pristinely manicured hands?

Hermione frowned as she worked her way through the crowd, flashing a few fake smiles at fellow employees she knew. A few feet away, sipping from a Firewhisky, stood Hermione's best friend, and exactly the man needed for such a perilous situation: Harry Potter. He had settled on the emerald-green tie as per Hermione's suggestion, the shade doing wonders for his gleaming eyes, the eyes that were currently screwed up in mirth due to a very funny joke by Kingsley Shacklebolt. The Aurors were standing together in a little circle, reminding Hermione of the Slytherin posse that would stalk the corridors, intimidating the other Houses. This wasn't Hogwarts, so Hermione felt no reservation in immediately demanding Harry's attention.

"Hello, may I steal Harry for a moment?" Hermione inquired, as the group's conversations came to an end.

"Oh, hey dear," Harry responded cordially, popping one of Marietta Edgecombe's famous biscuits into his mouth. "What's the big hullabaloo?"

Hermione tried her best not to grimace, covering it up with the grin she reserved for the paparazzi. "It's about Ginny, she owled me from Serbia, they're having some kind of earthquake…"

Harry's eyebrows rose as he took another sip of Ogden's. "Excuse me for a moment, gents! News concerning the lady awaits…"

His departure caused a bit of a flurry, seeing as Harry was as popular as ever, his famous quotient having skyrocketed after the downfall of Voldemort. Hoots and shouts followed the pair as Hermione literally had to wrench her best friend from the group of overly cocky young men. Cho's main speech started in a half hour, so Ministry employees were fanned throughout the room, catching up on the latest gossip and trying to down as much booze as was physically possible. Hermione found an empty curtained alcove, pulling Harry behind her.

"Ginny didn't owl you, did she?" Harry asked knowingly, swirling his drink around to disperse the contents, taking another sip when the liquid settled.

"Actually, she did, and she told you not to worry. I expect she'll just be a few days late. But I have something really important to tell you, something that can change the public's perception of the Ministry!" Hermione took a bite of her sandwich, it still being mostly untouched.

"Don't tell me Voldemort's back," Harry responded darkly, his wry smile quickly transforming into a frown.

"Sweet Circe, no!" Hermione responded, nearly dropping her chai in her reverent denial of his statement. "It's about Draco Malfoy. Did you know he's being sexually exploited by the Ministry? And it's all being masqueraded under the concept of the Witness Protection Program!"

Harry's eyebrows nearly covered his famous scar, taking a rather large gulp of Firewhisky. After years of being half-acknowledged by his friends and professors for his crazy conjectures, Harry tended to believe others right away, always eager to help in the most scandalous and bizarre of cases.

"Blimey, Hermione, how are they managing it? I can see why they'd target Baby Malfoy, make a good example of handling the Death Eater stigmata, but why is everything so hush-hush?"

"That's what confused me!" Hermione responded excitedly, glad that Harry hadn't treated her like a barmy child. "You would think they'd be bragging about his punishment, but they've chosen the opposite approach. That's what makes me think the practice has a bit of history…"

The two were interrupted by a curt cough, as the gleaming head of a butler poked into the privacy of their curtained alcove.

"Excuse me, Miss, but Minister Chang saw you duck into here, and requests your presence immediately."

Hermione nodded in the affirmative, then quickly turned to Harry. "Would you be willing to help me? It may mean completely revamping the entire Witness Protection Program…"

"Would you honestly?" Harry replied in a quick whisper. "All that hard work, just to discredit the Ministry? You're a Ministry employee yourself! You're not sweet on Draco now, are you?"

Hermione's face flushed in response, shooting back hotly, "Absolutely not! That isn't the point, it's the fact that an innocent man is being taken advantage of! Besides, his mother Narcissa is dangerously ill, and doesn't deserve to suffer in such a manner!"

Hermione swallowed, noticing that although she had never spoken such views before, they were completely valid. She had a bit of a soft spot for Narcissa, seeing as her own parents had been slightly distant ever since she had recovered them from the outback of Australia. And yes, Draco _was_ completely innocent and deserved help, despite the fact that Hermione found herself rather close to smitten. But only with his body! Draco's personality was still prickly and cold; she couldn't possibly fall in love with such an abomination! Hermione shook such silly thoughts quickly out of her brain.

"So," Hermione continued fiercely, "will you help me, Harry? I can't possibly do it alone!"

Harry's smile faltered slightly, concern apparent in his radiant eyes. "Hermione, I worry about your ambitious streak sometimes… I need this job, and so do you. Don't you want to finish that book of yours? I thought you were approaching three hundred pages!"

"Harry! As your best friend, I'm asking for your assistance. Just answer the question." Hermione began to flatten the creases in her dress, finishing the rest of her chai and giving up completely on the sandwich. Cho would be frantic that it was taking her assistant so long to report.

Harry sighed deeply, bringing Hermione into a comforting embrace. "Yes, I'll help, in any way that I can. I just want you to stay safe, okay? You really mean a lot to me, Hermione."

Hermione smiled radiantly, pecking him on the cheek as she lifted the edge of the curtain to depart. Harry waved goodbye, shouting at her retreating form: "Just keep in contact! And good luck!"

* * *

Hermione had been dozing in her armchair, listening to Cho drone on and on about her accomplishments and plans for the year, when a curious sight in the corner of her eye caused her mind to sharpen. Bizarrely enough, Theodore Nott was polishing cocktail glasses at a nearby table, the stark white of his uniform doing nothing to detract from the silver wrist chain that tinkled as he worked. Hermione took a look around, noticing that her fellow audience was either sleeping or deeply engrossed in Cho's speech, giving her the confidence to approach her fellow classmate.

"Hello, Theo," Hermione said quietly as she approached the refreshments table. "I haven't seen you in years!"

Theo's wavy black mop shifted upwards, and Hermione looked into the sweetest blue eyes she'd ever seen. His skin hue was like that of most Slytherin graduates, sickly and pale, although it lacked the austere regal beauty of Draco's complexion. Dark shadows laced his eyelashes and a painful-looking scar adorned his left temple, disappearing behind his ear. The young man blushed visibly at being noticed, his surprise heightening once he'd recognized this particular guest.

"Hermione Granger," Theo responded in a voice as gentle as her own. "It's so good to see you again! I see you're working for Minister Chang…"

Hermione couldn't resist examining the chain that settled below the bones that comprised Theo's wrists, the curious material glinting in the low candlelight.

"Does it hurt?" she blurted, feeling somewhat guilty that she'd completely disregarded his attempt at catching up. After all, they'd been in the same year at Hogwarts, and Hermione remembered the young man to be especially skilled in Astronomy and Arithmancy.

Theo's blue eyes showed surprise once he understood what she was thinking of, tracing the chain before responding. "Oh no, it's completely harmless, more of an emotional reminder of what we cannot do, really. You can touch it, if you'd like?"

Hermione gingerly touched the magical handcuffs, finding the material as sleek as silk under her fingers. However, the contact meant that she accidentally brushed Theo's arm, experiencing an unexpected jolt. Hermione bit her lip, somewhat disconcerted by the fact that she found the mysterious young man attractive, seeing as she'd fawned over Draco nearly the whole afternoon long.

She cleared her throat; eager to break the thick air caused by the intense looks Theo was shooting in her direction upon her touch. "So, Theo, you work in Hospitality here at the Ministry?"

Theo blinked several times, adjusting the buttons on his uniform. "Technically, yes. As you know, it's illegal for me to work for a Magical institution, but the Ministry deems me serving and cleaning up their food as worthy punishment, with a pitiful salary of a handful of Sickles."

Hermione frowned disapprovingly at another case of the Ministry taking things a bit too forward with the remnants of Death Eater families. Theo had been one of the few Slytherin students who had been transferred to Durmstrang upon the death of Albus Dumbledore, and although his father was a notorious Muggle murderer for the Dark side, Hermione couldn't remember seeing the younger Nott anywhere on the battlefield. He certainly didn't seem dangerous, his quiet demeanor reminding Hermione that Theo had a reputation for being a glorious artist back in his schooldays.

"Do you still paint?" Hermione asked, her mind still focused on that previous train of thought, her eyes flickering in Cho's direction as the young woman continued to proclaim her "wisdom".

Theo's mouth drooped, the light in his eyes flickering into nothingness. "I haven't the time. I'm on call here. I sleep on a cot in the cellar when I can. There is no room for canvases and oils amongst those boxes."

Hermione attempted to smile encouragingly, but the happiness didn't reach to her eyes. "That's a pity, you certainly had a gift. Did you stay in touch with your Slytherin mates?"

Theo shook his head sadly. "Baddock died in a cooking fire, and Blaise works on some horrid fishing boat that docks only a few weeks out of the year. I haven't heard from Malfoy since his father was locked up, but rumours say he's still lurking around in London."

"I had tea with his mother this afternoon," Hermione replied. "Shall I tell Draco that you're still in town? Perhaps you could find an opportunity to meet up?"

Theo's mood seemed to brighten at the mention of Draco, and he nodded, none too cheerfully, as was the Slytherin way of disguising unnecessary bouts of emotion. "That would be lovely, thank you, Miss Granger."

Hermione's eyebrow rose at the sudden formality, and would have expressed her opinion had she not noticed another uniformed man approach Theo, whispering in the younger man's ear. She heard a crescendoing collection of voices as Cho's speech came to a close and the crowd dispersed into their separate groups to discuss.

"As you can see, it looks like the party's ready for another round," Theo responded, nodding to his colleague as the other man walked in the opposite direction. "It was nice talking to you, Miss Granger, but I'm afraid I must serve the Firewhisky."

Hermione blushed lightly, realizing that she'd left her things back at her chair, and was expected to be superglued at Cho's side at this very moment. She gave her companion a small wave just as a sloshed Dawlish moseyed over to finagle another drink off of poor Theo. Cho chattered away as Hermione reached her, barely acknowledging her assistant's presence save for the slight raising of her small, delicate hand.

Hermione breathed deeply, a small bubble of rage forming in her throat as she stood dutifully, taking notes on the important bits and pieces of the conversation. _Look at her,_ Hermione fumed internally, _She treats all of us the same: as expendable objects, easily forgotten and replaced. I can't believe I ever thought I meant anything to her! _

A shrill giggle erupted from Cho's throat, to the great amusement of everyone save Hermione, who kept her head bowed over her notebook. _Cho uses Draco for her pleasure and his physical labor, Theo to prepare her afternoon coffee and wash her dishes, and me for preventing her stupidity to become public. What playthings we are!_

All in all, the Annual Ministry Meeting was an absolute success, employees raving about the inspiring speech Minister Chang had given, announcing her plans to open a new wing at St. Mungo's, finance a memoir about the Great War, and relieve tensions with the Albanian Ministry of Magic. The fact that fat, hot tears were running down the face of her curly-haired assistant, who was busily writing on a sheaf of parchment, escaped everyone's notice save for the particular pair of perceptive bottle-green eyes belonging to an Auror.

* * *

Hermione's night was less than restful, tossing and turning in the cotton sheets until the pressure in her skull was overwhelming. She was about to let out an anguished cry in distress, but was halted by the feeling of a delicate hand enclosing her own. Hermione shot up in bed, alarmed, pulling off her eyemask to see the serene face of Luna Lovegood, who was dressed in a silvery-blue nightgown, sitting dutifully by her bedside.

"Luna," Hermione breathed, settling back against her down pillow, "You gave me such a fright!"

"I'm sorry, my dear," Luna responded, patting her hand and getting up to smooth back the covers. "Harry told me you'd be needing some comfort tonight, so I thought I'd watch over you. What is the matter? You were positively sobbing in your sleep!"

Hermione grimaced embarrassedly, shifting slightly against the mattress. Luna was her closest female friend, but it was still humiliating to thrash about with an audience, her discomfort over the evening's events being revealed in slumber.

"It's the Ministry," Hermione said gloomily. "Ruining innocent citizens' lives, as is their forte…"

"That's quite curious," Luna replied with a barely perceptible raised eyebrow. "Would you like me to run a piece? We still have another week until production."

"Perhaps when I've done proper research," Hermione replied with a grateful smile. "At this point, I'm still shocked at what I've discovered. But I'll assure you, _The Quibbler _will be the first to publish my findings."

Luna smiled goofily, sipping from a teacup balanced carefully on her lap. Xenophilius Lovegood's advanced age, along with his all-around oddness, had made it vital to name his daughter Luna as _The Quibbler_'s CEO soon after her twentieth birthday. While the content of the magazine still remained a mysterious grab bag, _The Quibbler_ was the only place to find reliable coverage of Wizarding news, _The Daily Prophet_ having been controlled by the Ministry since the reign of Scrimgeour. Seeing as she was best friends with the top administrator, Hermione had gotten a free subscription for years.

"Shall I get you some nice cocoa?" Luna said cheerfully, bringing Hermione out of her slight reverie. "I left some milk on the stove, I know how much you enjoy a cup of chocolate."

Hermione smiled at her friend and nodded, always amazed at the blonde's kindness in every instance. Although Luna had a deep love for the bizarre, she and Hermione both enjoyed literature and Ancient Runes, often spending rainy days chattering together and discussing theories. The female Lovegood was working as a field herbologist and naturalist with her fiancé Neville Longbottom, the two having recently discovered an herb that could help immensely with the treatment of Lycanthropy.

Luna soon returned with a steaming cup for Hermione, this time settling next to her dear friend on the cushy bed. "Let's speak of pleasant things," the blonde began gaily, a few strands of her hair falling into her own cup of Earl Grey. "Have you talked to Ginny recently about plans for the wedding?"

Hermione shook her head, both in response and at the depressing fact that all of her friends were getting married or settling down, while Ron forgot her middle name half the time. "I heard she changed the colours to white and pink? What does Harry think of that?"

"I rather adored the mint green," Luna mused, looking off into the distance. "Pink is certainly a dangerous colour to wear in early spring, it attracts all sorts of burrowing insects. I believe Harry agrees with me, the look on his face was one to stop a flock of snarling Chimeras."

Hermione giggled, hugging her friend close. "Oh Luna, you always make me feel better! I'm so glad you came to see me, even if it is two in the morning."

"Ah well," Luna replied studiously, "I figured I should stay until the Lethifolds left for the night, wouldn't want you to be swallowed up in such a distressed state of sleep."

Hermione giggled even more, her sadness from seeing Narcissa, Draco, and Theo evaporating from the front of her consciousness, resting in a comfortable spot before it would hit her full force the next morning. She'd spend the weekend researching for the cause, and possibly she'd be able to get out of clubbing tomorrow evening. She was in no mood for Ron's pathetic tango. Luna began to hum the tune to "Hoggy Woggy Hogwarts", causing the two young women to squeal childishly on Hermione's feather bed, bouncing and chattering until Hermione was exhausted.

"I love you, Luna."

"I love you as well, Hermione. Do get some sleep, not having rest wreaks havoc on your nerves. Not to mention the Knarls will be positively horrified."

* * *

Hermione arose the next morning to the sound of gentle tapping on her bedroom window. Thinking it was the commonplace rain that plagued London, she rolled over, determined to sleep until the vibration of her wand ordered her to get ready for another day with Priss Miss. The tapping refused to quit, so Hermione shuffled over to the window, hair mussed and wild, boxer shorts revealing the fact that she had forgotten to shave in quite some time.

A plain brown owl blinked on the other side of the glass, a small envelope clutched in its beak, curiously watching Hermione as she opened the window. The young woman recognized it as a public owl, available in shops scattered throughout Britain for those without the means to own their own animal. The owl may have been unusual, but the script the letter contained had a vaguely familiar aristocratic feel, Hermione peering at the postmark as she patted the owl's soft head.

Narcissa's gentle writing flowed across the page and into Hermione's mind, her hand absentmindedly paying the owl its fee and body sinking into the plush rug that lay at her feet. It was an invitation to afternoon tea the following Tuesday, and whether Hermione would accept, was incredibly debatable. She would be delighted to see Narcissa, keeping the sickly witch company in her drab apartment and catch up on the latest silly gossip. However, the fact that Draco would be traipsing about upstairs would be both tantalizing and terrifying, the benefits and drawbacks quick to cancel one another out. She didn't want to risk experiencing Draco's silent rage again, no matter how sexy it made him appear.

Hermione sighed at her traitorous mind, grabbing a quill to reply to Narcissa's request, noticing that she was up a good half hour before her usual time. Perhaps she'd have enough minutes to spare for a warm bubble bath to start the day? It'd certainly take her mind off the arrogant young man with the lean musculature that caused ill-used regions of her body to heat up considerably. She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt the pull of sexual attraction, and frankly, it was scary, because Hermione Granger didn't like to lose control.

_Dearest Narcissa-_

_I'd be honoured to join you for afternoon tea next week; shall I bring the biscuits this time? Pray tell, will Draco be attending as well? I'm afraid that my presence in the house is somewhat disconcerting for him, and I find myself considerably flustered by him in return. I plan to attend no matter your answer, but I thought I would bring to light this most delicate matter._

_Sincerely Yours,_

_Hermione Granger_


	3. Chapter 3

A special shout-out to my beloved beta evenstar101, whose guidance has helped me to be more careful and considerate of what I publish, which I will be eternally grateful for. And Diagonally, for being so damn inspiring:)

Chapter 3

Hermione sighed fretfully as her eyes flew over yet another page. She'd never researched something so unfruitful, and it made her quite upset that her beloved books were failing her desperate search. It was Monday night, a full four days after becoming aware of Draco's plight, and Hermione was just as frustrated as she was at the beginning despite having a plethora of information under her belt. _Life inside the Ministry_ and _Dirty Little Secrets: Scandals of Ministry members _had been her biggest hopes, but after reading pages and pages about illegal animal trading and the misuse of Quidditch hoops, Hermione had wanted to pull her thick brown curls straight out of her head.

It seemed that she'd got herself involved in something deeply secret, something that no one dared to report about, for fear of being squashed. Many times during the weekend she'd wanted to give up completely, seeing as those stupid Slytherins had never done anything for her when she was young, simply contributing to her insecurity and tears. But as much as she wanted to prove her Muggleborn worth to Malfoy, deep down Hermione knew she could never live in a society operating in a state of near Apartheid, with an underground dissent threatening to explode. Would there be _yet another_ war?

Hermione shut the sizeable tome she'd been scanning, resting her forehead against the cool surface. For the first time ever, she'd been sent home early, like a naughty child…

_The whole debacle had started around lunchtime, when Cho had requested Hermione to sort her mail and then bring it to her office before Roger came to pick her up for lunch. Hermione had dutifully finished the errand, organizing the letters by type, alphabet and color, as per Cho's preference, settling the mail on the small end table just inside Cho's doorway, as she had done a million times before. Things would have gone on normally were Cho not in an oppositional mood, eyeing Hermione sharply as she painted her fingernails a bright red._

_"Hermione," Cho had said superciliously, not even looking at her assistant as she applied the brush to her pinkie finger. "Did I not ask you to bring the mail directly to me? Where is your head, girl_

_To be honest, Hermione wasn't exactly sure what it was about Cho's request that had lit the fuse. It might have been the superior tone, or the fact that a woman a year older than her referred to her as "girl". It might have been the fact that her boss was condoning, if not responsible, for the suffering of hundreds of British citizens. It might have been the fact that she had catered to Cho's every whim for nearly three years, and was tired of the older girl's constant bitching. Nevertheless, Cho soon found the pile of mail thrown into her face, the colorful envelopes falling like stones to the floor around her desk._

_"You did say 'directly'," Hermione sneered, turning on her heel and walking back to her cubicle down the hall, having never felt so powerful, so in control, and so bitchy as she had in that exact moment. Seeing as she had been nothing but a model citizen in the Wizarding world for the past twelve years, it gave her such a thrill to be a bad, bad, girl._

_It wasn't until she was seated at her desk with a freshly sent memo settling itself on her "Animal Regulation of the 15th century" that Hermione began to feel any trace of guilt. Showing up to the Malfoys' unannounced, becoming sexually attracted to the very dangerously mysterious Draco, dozing during a company get-together, and now throwing papers in her boss's face? What in Circe's name was wrong with her? Hermione had torn the memo open with trembling fingers, recognizing the light lavender stationary that designated a message from Cho's personal desk._

_It was soon discarded in the recycle pile, as Hermione collected her bag and jacket as she would on any other day when she left for home. Cho had given her the rest of the day off, "recognizing that she was obviously in a right state". It certainly was bizarre to head for the lift as her fellow employees fit in their last owls before the lunch hour, chatting gaily to one another._

There she was, lying on her living room carpet in disgrace, hours after being sent home. She couldn't help but feel like a criminal. The fact that she had been utterly unproductive since arriving home did nothing to calm her frayed nerves. Hermione had been nothing _but_ productive since she'd started school, and the difference in feeling was simply unnerving. She got up and headed to the kitchen, planning to make herself a cup of cocoa in an effort to calm herself down. The cocoa tin was unfortunately empty due to Luna's visit last week, so Hermione prepared herself to leave the flat, any excuse to leave behind her troubling thoughts, a good one.

Hermione began to walk the streets, the crisp autumn air feeling so refreshing on her face, a welcome contrast to her bundled-up body. She suddenly remembered seeing a little retro café when she'd left the Malfoy flat the other day, and thought it looked incredibly charming. She Apparated to the same safe point as she had before, walking into the tiny establishment with a smile on her face.

Hermione certainly hadn't expected this to be the very café that Draco worked at during the weekdays, and that this retro café was one that featured roller skating waiters and waitresses. She stood at the hostess's stand, transfixed, and watched Draco glide by expertly, carrying five plates full of food with little effort. He had such grace while skating, Hermione forgot that she was supposed to be embarrassed for him and instead stared openly, watching the blond give his customers a friendly smile and sliding a pencil behind his ear.

"Excuse me, Miss?" came a squeaky voice, causing Hermione to spin around in surprise. A diminutive girl held a menu in her hands, looking at her expectantly. "Will you need a table, or are you waiting for someone?"

Hermione blushed, shouldering her handbag and trying her best to avoid Draco. "Yes, I'd like a table. I'm eating alone tonight."

The tiny girl gave her a gracious smile, leading Hermione to a table three places down. "Welcome to Willie's, Draco will be your waiter tonight…" The redhead's grin suddenly turned saucy, leaning in closer to Hermione to whisper in her ear. "Don't be shy about it, he's certainly gorgeous. Draco's our little man candy around here. Unfortunately, he's not dating at the moment." Annette, as her nametag read, wrinkled her nose, and then skated away to greet another couple that had walked into the café.

Having been provided this new bit of information, Hermione felt considerably awkward, trying to calm herself down with the task of deciding what to drink. The menu, like the restaurant's furnishings, was decorated in an American style, complete with pictures of a jukebox and girls dressed in skirts with poodles on them. Hermione thought it was slightly odd that a café in Brixton would choose such a theme, but the food offerings certainly seemed interesting.

"Hello, my name is Draco! What can I get you to drink?"

Hermione tentatively lowered her menu, avoiding Draco's grey eyes, which grew wide with the shock of seeing Hermione so unexpectedly. He looked positively hilarious in his red pinstriped shirt and apron, an oddly shaped white hat covering most of his gleaming platinum locks.

"I was just curious," Hermione asked, managing to keep her voice steady. "What exactly is the difference between a Roy Rogers and a Shirley Temple?"

Draco let out a soft laugh, which caused Hermione to finally look up, reacquainting her with the beautiful features of the youngest Malfoy.

"Well, Miss Granger, a Roy Rogers is a cola mixed with cherry juice, while a Shirley Temple is Fanta with the cherry. Or we could slip in some cherry liquor, if you are so inclined…"

Hermione let out a giggle, pleased to see that Draco was genuinely smiling, the action lighting up his entire face and transforming it to something quite angelic. She busied herself with the menu once again, trying to hide the fact that she was quite affected by something so radiant directed at _her_.

"The Shirley Temple sounds nice, but I think I'll get some hot chocolate. You do offer hot chocolate, do you not?"

Draco smirked, leaning back on his skates. "Well, not usually, but I believe Jack, our excellent cook, can concoct something of the sort for you. Would you like anything else? Me, for example?"

Hermione covered her mouth as she sucked in air, causing Draco's hearty laughter to explode in the air. "Oh Granger, you are precious!" he exclaimed, in between chuckles. "It was just a joke, honestly!" Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione could see Annette eyeing him curiously.

"I'll go order that for you. My shift's nearly over, so I'll come sit with you and we can chat. That is why you're here, isn't it?" Draco cocked an eyebrow with that last statement, swiftly gliding away before she could answer with a retort.

Hermione took a minute or so to let the whole experience sink in, allowing a small pleased smile to slide onto her face. She began to fiddle with the packets of creamer, whistling along with the Muggle song that was playing on the Jukebox. Elvis Presley had always been one of her father's favourites, so it was nice to hear a little bit of home.

In no time at all, Draco was back, a small slip of paper and a fancy glass in hand. The hot chocolate was a sight to behold, a rich dark brown decadence topped with fluffy whipped cream, dusted with cocoa powder. As Draco placed the bill next to her drink, Hermione looked at him, astonished. "My, isn't this a bit extravagant! Give my compliments to the chef!"

Draco smiled that wry smile of his, nodding his head. "I'll be sure to tell him. I'm going to go change out of my uni, be back in a few." The blond skated away, twirling in a circle around Annette and pressing an affectionate kiss to her cheek. Hermione watched the scene with amusement, surprised again by the amount of emotion that Draco showed at times. He'd come a long way since his schooldays, where his demeanor had been nothing but stoic, and now he was coddling his mother and fellow employees! Hermione adapted the same wry smile at this development, sipping the delectable chocolate that lay before her.

Draco reappeared a few minutes later, sans roller skates, dressed in a deep blue t-shirt and a pair of jeans that made Hermione have yet another fantasy about what was underneath. He slid into the seat across from her, folding his arms across his chest, a satisfied smile on his angular features.

"So?" he mused, raising an eyebrow. "How's the chocolate?"

"It's lovely," she replied, taking another sip to express her satisfaction. "Possibly the best hot cocoa I've ever had."

A few minutes passed, Draco beginning to fiddle with his keys, the lighthearted air that had surrounded them turning stale and thick with nervousness. He was peering at Hermione through his silvery-blond bangs, whistling softly to keep himself occupied. Hermione stirred the whipped cream on the surface of her cocoa, looking back at him silently. She knew that she was invading his privacy, and that he had requested her to keep her space, but she couldn't have possibly known that this was this place of work.

_Not to mention, was Draco actually flirting with me before?_ Hermione wondered, setting the spoon on her pristinely clean paper napkin. _Oh no, it couldn't possibly be that. What would Draco Malfoy ever see in me, the absolute bane of his existence?_

Draco coughed softly, bringing Hermione out of her thoughts, her attention fixing on her companion. "So," he began politely, "If it's not too rude, may I ask what you're doing here?"

Hermione blushed embarrassedly, not knowing how she'd be able to explain her way out of this one. She settled for the simplified version. "Well, I felt like going out for some cocoa, and I remembered seeing this café on my way home last week. I didn't even know you worked here, I promise."

Draco's lips pursed, his lanky frame stretching to reach the water pitcher that lay on a parallel counter, pouring himself a glass. He seemed to be studying her, the slender fingers of his right hand tapping the Formica in a sporadic beat, the handcuffs magically expanding to allow him to do as he pleased.

"Lucky coincidence, I guess," he responded, causing the brunette to exhale in silent relief. "Merlin, I've seen a lot of you lately! Not that that's a bad thing. Not at all."

Guessing from the way Draco was stuttering, Hermione thought he seemed rather uncomfortable, although his prior excuse that he didn't socialize much was proved wrong by his affectionate dealing of Annette. Hermione frowned, causing Draco to set down his water glass and gaze at her concernedly.

"I didn't offend you, did I?" he asked, running his fingers through his hair. "I'm afraid you find me an absolute ass."

Hermione shook her head in response. "No, that's not it, it's the complete opposite. I thought you were quite angry, judging from the way our last conversation ended."

"Oh goodness, I truly am a bloody wanker. I'm not angry with you, Hermione, but our situation is truly hopeless. I wouldn't want you to get involved…"

"But I want to get involved! You need help, and you've been taught to never ask for it, so you simply don't understand! What Cho is doing, no one deserves! Especially you!"

Hermione clapped a hand over her mouth at the end of her passionate rant, humiliated that she'd included that last bit. Closing her eyes, she expected a fiery response to wash over her in waves, a punishment for her stupid plea to convince him. She had waited in fear for nearly a minute when nothing came, so Hermione cautiously opened one eye.

Draco was openly staring at her, mouth half open and a frozen countenance that suggested the blond was deep in thought. His hand still lay on the table, so she shyly covered it with her own, trying to draw him out from the depths of his mind. His return to earth was like the slow melting of ice, his pallor warming and eyes adjusting from steely grey to the shade of a first frost.

"You're right," he murmured softly, forcing Hermione to lean in, in order to hear. "You're absolutely right. I've always thought I could handle things on my own, but I can't."

Hermione patted his hand again in an expression of comfort, the silky underside of his arm visible. She was somewhat surprised by the pristine surface of it, causing her to lift her eyes to his.

"I always thought you took the Mark," she said softly, drawing her hand back to her side of the café table.

"I did," he responded ruefully. "It's just not on my arm, as most are. Blaise and I decided to do it ourselves the summer before sixth year, knowing that there was no way out."

Hermione smiled sadly, drinking her cocoa and letting the taste settle on her tongue. "I'm so sorry, Draco."

Draco shook his head, a half-smile playing on his features. "Oh Hermione, always so compassionate. You have nothing to be sorry about, it was my own choice."

The blond stood up, shaking off his jacket and slipping it over his shoulders, causing Hermione's eyes to once again glue to his exposed midriff like a magnet. "I'm sorry to leave so soon, but I have… other engagements."

Hermione sighed deeply as she understood his meaning, realizing that it indeed was that time of night for Draco to commute to his "second job". "It was nice talking to you. Shall I pay someone else for the cocoa?"

Draco waved his hand dismissively, picking up his keys from the Formica surface. "I'll take care of it, don't bother. I expect I'll see you soon, I'm sure you can make it up to me somehow."

His grin was teasing yet seductive, and Hermione was so transfixed by his face that she nearly missed the arrival of his lips, that suddenly were inches from hers.

"Thank you," he said softly, the warmness of his breath causing the hair all over her body to stand on end. Then he did the simply unimaginable, planting the most whispery of kisses on her frozen lips, his cool hand grasping her chin for a fraction of a second.

By the time Hermione had realized what had just occurred, bringing one hand to rest against the surface of her lips, Draco was already gone, out in the darkness and on his way to Cho. She felt a giggle working its way up her throat, the sensation of Draco's kiss causing a frenzy in her nervous system. There was even a slight ache in her nether regions from the lingering natural scent of Draco's; a misty sandalwood, causing Hermione to squirm in embarrassment. She finished her hot chocolate in silence, the travel home seemingly insignificant in her mind, her steps clumsy and hurried.

Hermione slept the best she had in weeks, her dreams full of the many shades of silver.

* * *

"Gahhhhhhh!" Hermione squealed, Harry looking on amusedly as Hermione willingly inflicted pain on a book for the first time. "Why is this so complicated?! Thirty books and I find absolutely nothing!"

Harry smiled to himself, sipping tea as he snuggled further into his favourite armchair. Harry and Ginny's flat was small but homey, the parlor an excellent spot for conversation, reading up on the latest headlines, and yes, research. Hermione had coerced Harry into looking for information, figuring that two heads would be certainly more efficient than one. She'd been on edge all afternoon, frustrated that Narcissa had to reschedule tea due to a painful coughing spell. Now she would have to wait until the weekend to see the sweet old dear, and Hermione had little tangible information to share.

"I know why you haven't found anything," Harry told the brunette smugly, a faint smile gracing his lips.

Hermione stopped tossing books around, her hands twitching on a stack of paper, brown curls in even greater disarray than usual. "You do?" she hissed. "Come on, out with it! How sly of you, Harry!"

Harry grinned, leaning forward and setting his teacup on the ottoman. "The thing is, Hermione, you're trying to be academic about the whole situation, but you've forgotten one very important aspect! This isn't your normal case; this is a Ministry-wide conspiracy! No self-respecting author would publish his or her suspicions of anything of that caliber. You're looking in the wrong place."

Hermione groaned. "Where else am I going to go? This isn't common knowledge, so I was hoping that someone would have written on the subject…"

"Lucky for you," Harry began proudly, "You happen to know someone that has access to the information you need to redeem Draco Malfoy."

Hermione frowned, sitting on the arm of Harry's chair, hand settling itself on her hip in frustration. "And who might that be? I don't have any Ministry contacts, except for the silly ones I've made through Cho."

Harry reached into his pocket, his smile wide and smug at this point, and pulled out a small card. "You better brush up on your Hufflepuff socialization skills, because Hannah Abbott is going to become your new best friend."

Hermione looked at Harry in shock, peering down at the small cream card that resided in her palm. "Are you serious? I haven't talked to her since we left school! And what does Hannah have to do with anything?"

Harry simply gestured with his head, looking incredibly self-satisfied. Hermione sighed and decided to humor Harry by falling for his little joke. She certainly wasn't expecting him to be absolutely right.

_Ms. Hannah M. Abbott  
Ministry of Magic Historical and Judicial Archives, Executive Supervisor  
Addiscombe, London_

Hermione squealed, fell off the arm of the chair and squeezed Harry in an excited hug. "Thank Merlin! I was so worried! What would I do without you, Harry?"

Harry grinned, tidying up his hair. "I'm not quite sure, shrivel up and die? You certainly have been distracted by a certain blond as of late…"

Hermione glared in response, the two friends becoming startled by the sound of keys hitting the kitchen counter. Ginny swept into the parlor, looking marvelous in navy blue, a naughty expression on her face. "My my, so it's true that you two are having a passionate affair…"

Hermione rolled her eyes, getting up to greet her beloved friend with a hug. "Oh Ginny, I haven't seen you in ages! Did you beat Transylvania?"

"Of course we did," Ginny replied, taking Hermione's spot on Harry's lap. "Gwenog was being a downright bint, bitching on and on about our form… She's the one that hired Megan Jones as Seeker! The nerve!"

Harry kissed his fiancée on the cheek, smiling up at Hermione. "So, are you going to visit Hannah tomorrow?"

"Most certainly," Hermione responded, wrinkling her nose. "That is, if Cho doesn't have me running across London trying to find Weird Sisters tickets…"

"Sweet Circe!" Ginny shrieked, springing a meter into the air. "You can get _Weird Sisters_ tickets? Oh Hermione, could you? Could you? Could you?"

Hermione suppressed a snicker, turning an amused face to Harry. "Looks like you're going to spend an evening watching Ginny drool over Heath Barbary."

Harry let out a tormented groan, burying his face in his hands.

* * *

Hermione walked quickly down the street, rain drenching her hair and clothes, but the Weird Sisters tickets lay safely protected in the pocket of her jacket. She tucked her purple handbag into her armpit and then launched across the street, water spraying everywhere, desperate to reach the Ministry before it closed. It had been another hectic week at the office, Cho getting her revenge by loading more work on Hermione than ever before. Between her job and researching the Witness Protection Project, she hadn't written more than a sentence for her book in a few weeks.

But sacrificing her beloved book would be worth it if she were able to peruse the mysterious archives, which had been ignored for centuries due to their vast supply of seemingly worthless information. Now that she was thinking about it, Hermione was surprised she hadn't visited the Archives before; what material she could find for her ongoing research! Hopefully Hannah had retained her constant cheerfulness so that Hermione could find what she needed, and quickly.

The lobby was nearly deserted when she arrived at the Ministry, save for a young couple that was flirting and giggling at the magical fountain. Hermione walked briskly to the lift, slightly gulping as she traveled down, down, down to the belly of the beast, where all of the secrets of the Ministry were hidden.

The first thing Hermione laid eyes upon was a reception desk, unfortunately unoccupied. Her heart began to sink, but she managed to glimpse a blond head weaving its way through far-off shelves. _Jackpot._

"Excuse me?" Hermione called, her voice coming out high and sweet. "Can anyone help me?"

There was a soft scurrying, rather reminiscent to the sound of a mouse that heralded the young woman's arrival, the bright round face of Hannah Abbott beaming up at Hermione.

"Dear me, it's Hermione Granger! How have you been? You're so beautiful!" she exclaimed, all in one very impressive breath. The blonde was brimming with energy, seeming so out of place amongst the dusty tomes, and frankly, her enthusiasm scared Hermione a little.

"I've been doing just fine, and thank you! It's so nice to see you again, Hannah!"

"Oh, it's so nice to see fellow Hogwarts alumni," Hannah babbled, the vibrant smile on her face never faltering. "Susan's been my best friend since we were toddlers, but I'm afraid I didn't keep in touch with anyone else… Neville's the same way, always going on about how we should have Harry 'round for tea…"

"Oh, are you and Neville engaged?" Hermione piped up, a genuine smile on her face at the news.

Hannah let out a squeal, thrusting her hand out at Hermione. On her delicate ring finger lay a pretty silver band with shiny diamonds and sapphires inlaid in a scroll pattern. "He asked me just last month," Hannah said breathlessly, looking at the ring in awe. "We're so excited to start sharing furniture and animals and kitchen utensils!"

Hermione let out a tiny giggle, Hannah laughing along joyfully, totally oblivious to her own situational humor. The blonde peered up at Hermione again, delicate spectacles magnifying her blue eyes to several times their actual size.

"While I'm so pleased you came and said hello, would you like me to help you find something?" Hannah asked inquisitively, although rather joyfully.

"Am I allowed to peruse the stacks in any topic, or do I have to have a particular subject?" Hermione asked, growing slightly nervous at the bit of clandestine searching she would have to attempt.

"This late, I'm technically supposed to accompany you, but I know your character," Hannah replied with a wink. "Just write down your topic of study in the ledger, and you can be on your merry way."

Hermione wrote down "Witness Protection Program" down in her careful script, passing the sizeable book back to Hannah for verification.

"The Witness Protection Program?" Hannah chirped, blond curls bouncing. "How fascinating! I know exactly where you should start!"

It was Hermione's turn to beam, drops of water continuing to fall off her clothes as she followed Hannah through the maze of bookshelves and display cases. The pair stopped in front of a set of bookshelves labeled "Wizarding Law, 1970-Present".

"Here we are!" Hannah said brightly, turning to see Hermione's satisfaction. "Just send out some sparks if you need help, I'll be here for the next hour."

Hermione nodded and was about to start her inspection when Hannah stopped, brow furrowing in concentration. It was funny to see the silly blonde in such a state, Hermione covering a smile with her hand.

"If I'm not mistaken, I believe that Zacharias Smith was one of the creators of the current law, so try contacting him for more information!" Hannah said, looking quite pleased with herself.

Hermione's eyebrows rose with this new tidbit, filing it away in her head for future reference. With a wave goodbye to Hannah, she pulled out the nearest ledger, brushing off the thin film of dust that covered it. _Zacharias Smith, the Hufflepuff? How curious…_

Unfortunately, the tome proved to be as helpful as the last thirty she'd thumbed through. This particular volume was on house-elf legislation, and while fascinating, wasn't exactly pertinent to her search. Hermione couldn't help letting out a joyful squeal when she found the book labeled _Witness Protection Program, established 1999. _The first third spoke of the history and public reception, which Hermione assumed she already knew everything about, but judging on the news regarding Zacharias Smith, she'd have to brush up on the history later. What was more fascinating was the extended appendix, listing each of the citizens affected by the Program. Hermione quickly flipped to the Ms, knowing that her time left in the archives was short.

Under Draco's name was a miniscule paragraph, merely listing his date of birth, family connections and place of work. Narcissa's was equally informative, although it added the fact that she and Draco had defected to the Order in 1998. Lucius's entry, however, was very curious, taking up a page and a half in total. Hermione sunk down to the ground, getting herself comfortable to read what impact the Witness Protection Program had on the heartless Lucius.

_Lucius Ignatius Malfoy, born in 1954, is the current Patriarch of the ancient Malfoy bloodline, _the book read. _Due to his obvious connections to the uprising of Lord Voldemort, the use of many an Unforgiveable, and many witnessed murders of both wizards and Muggles, Malfoy was sentenced to receive the Dementor's Kiss in the fall of 1998. His investments, properties and funds were seized upon the conclusion of the Second War, used as reparations to repair damaged portions of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, and the British Ministry of Magic. His son Draco and wife Narcissa were subsequently placed into the Witness Protection Program, and currently reside in an undisclosed location._

_After awaiting his sentence for two weeks, Malfoy was transferred to the permanent ward in Azkaban prison, where he is currently under surveillance twenty-fours hours a day, both by Dementor and wizard guards. The reasons for Malfoy's sentence modification are unknown upon publication of this edition, but a Ministry official has reported that it was due to a non-monetary donation to the Ministry from the eldest Malfoy._

The entry continued on about the use of the Malfoy fortune towards public works, but Hermione's eyes and mind were focused on the words "non-monetary donation". If everything the Malfoys owned had already been taken by the Ministry, and Draco and Narcissa were forced from their home, then what could Lucius possibly offer that the Ministry would accept? Hermione's mind settled on a theory, causing her to gasp and inhale quite deeply.

What if Lucius had struck a deal with the Ministry, allowing his son to be "employed" by the same institution that threatened to give him a premature death? The thought was abominable, but Hermione doubted it was outside Lucius's concept of morality. Her heart clenched, knowing that if Draco were to find out that he'd been betrayed by his own father, for perhaps the millionth time, he'd be positively devastated. Would Hermione be able to pick up the pieces?

"Getting comfy?" came a cheery voice from her left. Hermione scrambled to her feet to see Hannah fully clothed in traveling wear. "Unfortunately, we're closing up for the night. You're welcome to come tomorrow, however!"

Hermione shook her head slightly, surprised at how fast that hour had flown by, and she was only minimally closer to discover the truth behind the Witness Protection Program. "Thanks so much, Hannah. Would I be able to take this home for the night?" she asked, gesturing to the hefty tome she had to hold in both arms.

"Unfortunately not," Hannah replied regretfully, wisps of a frown marring her normally angelic face. "But I can keep it on hold for you behind the desk, definitely."

"Oh, could you?" Hermione exclaimed gratefully, heaving the sizeable volume into the blonde's outstretched arms. "That's so kind of you! I'll be sure to come in tomorrow afternoon. Perhaps we could get coffee one afternoon? It'd be so nice to properly catch up."

"I'd love that," Hannah replied, placing the book into a deep drawer at the front of the archives. "I'll ask Neville if he's available, I'm sure he'd be thrilled to see you once again!"

Hermione waved as she exited the archives, a smile on her face as her short heels clacked against the ebony surface of the floor tiles. As she walked out of the Ministry alone, however, her thoughts turned sour, the deep weight of her information shown by the distress on her features. What ever would she tell Draco? The information she possessed could further his depression, or give him the emphasis to support Hermione in her quest.

It was fitting that the raindrops still fell, for Hermione had a feeling that her life was going to proceed into the realm of misery with every step she took into investigating this very delicate problem.


	4. Chapter 4

**Oh goodness, this is a drama-filled chapter… Hold onto your knickers, ladies!**

**As always, XOXO to my lovely beta evenstar101. And to my cherished Sisterz, I adapted one of our favourite lines to work for this chapter, let's see if you can find it:)**

**p.s. Apparently, the sexy location of Draco's Dark Mark has been used before in a French fanfic, so I'm not going to claim that idea as my own. Damn, because it's a good one.**

"Lucius Malfoy sold his own son?" Harry swore, nearly spilling his coffee all over his light tan jumper. Ron chortled from his armchair nearby, leaning closer to Hermione as he sipped his own frothy drink.

"You have to admit that Draco rather deserved it," the redhead responded, shaking his rather large head. "Mixing up with the wrong sort of crowd, treating us like his house-elves…"

Hermione glared fiercely at her longtime friend, handing Harry a napkin to absorb the froth lining his upper lip. "Ron, how dare you judge him! Draco comes from a completely different social circle than you do! What would you do if your father were a prominent Death Eater? Say 'No thanks, I'll sit out this time, Daddy'?"

Ron's face had become increasingly more scarlet as Hermione began her scolding, therefore having no intelligent response to her question. Being the man he was Ron reverted to his usual box of tricks: immaturity.

"Calling him _Draco_ now, are we?" he sniggered, taking a hearty swig of his mocha. "Of all the men, Hermione… does he have a Ferret dick to match his Ferret face?"

Hermione came very close to leaving an elegant hand-shaped bruise on Ron's cheek, but was prevented from attempting murder by the firm grip of her other best friend.

"That was uncalled for," Harry hissed at Ron, placing Hermione gently back into her seat. "Not only did you crudely insult Hermione, but you're joshing about someone who turned himself in before the war started. Draco Malfoy is not a true Death Eater I've seen it."

Harry's traumatic ordeal up in the Astronomy Tower was a topic that was specifically avoided, but the courageous young man had maintained for years that Draco Malfoy was no enemy. Hermione felt uncomfortable that the unpleasant memory had to resurface, all thanks to the stupid redhead she sometimes called "boyfriend".

The male in question gulped, lifting his blue eyes from the floor. "All right… I'm sorry for saying such a thing. But honestly, Hermione, why do you care so much?"

Hermione brought her knees to her chest, leaning her Darjeeling against her chest while she thought. The feelings she had for Draco were… perplexing. There were times she wanted to rip his clothes apart in sheer lust for his perfect body, moments where she could cry for all the misfortunes that had haunted the Malfoys since their fall from grace, and soft seconds where Hermione wanted to crawl into that guarded fathomless crevice that was Draco's mind and kiss away the troubled thoughts. She didn't know what she felt for Draco, gained by a few meaningful encounters, but whatever it was, it was deep. Such seriousness terrified her.

This whirlwind must have had outward signs, for Ron looked back at her with a haunted expression. "Oh…" he said quietly, almost mournfully.

Harry sighed deeply and shook his head, placing a reassuring hand on Hermione's upturned knee. "As you were saying, before we were so rudely interrupted?"

Hermione's voice came as squeaky as a mice's plea, but the two young men before her listened with rapt attention. "The book said that Lucius was able to get his sentence commuted from the Kiss. Yesterday was hell, but I managed to look up a few more records. It turns out that Draco Malfoy, Gregory Goyle, Blaise Zabini, Theodore Nott, and the late Malcolm Baddock all work in special Ministry-mandated positions."

"Does that mean that all their fathers used them as _sex slaves_?" Ron asked, horrified.

"If my theory is correct," Hermione replied, "then yes, the five fathers somehow made a pact with the Ministry in exchange for their own lives. However, from the information I gained from Theo, Draco is the only one employed in such a manner."

"Poor bloke," Ron muttered, turning his attentions to his coffee. Knowing that he was in the doghouse for his prior comment, he was desperate to get into Hermione's good graces yet again.

"How utterly sick," Harry responded deeply, an expression of disgust on his handsome features. "It shows that the Ministry is still as corrupt as ever. Dear Merlin! What's your next step, Hermione?"

The young woman sipped her tea for a few quiet moments, and then turned to her two friends with a look of determination. "I intend to visit the Archives again come Monday, seeing as I'm utterly exhausted and want to recuperate this weekend. But Harry, do you possibly think you could get me a meeting with Zacharias Smith?"

Harry smiled widely. "As an Auror, I don't even have to have a coherent reason. Two-thirty work?"

Hermione nodded kindly in response, taking a second to ink the appointment in her daily planner. Ron looked annoyed, his mind no doubt thick with memories of the annoying blond back at Hogwarts.

"Ugh, hated Zacharias! Acted like he owned the place, a Puffle version of Malfoy… But aren't you going to ask me for help?"

Hermione and Harry both choked on their respective drinks, receiving a few disturbed looks from their fellow customers at the Mooncalf. Ron put a hand on his hip, glaring in response as his friends tried their best to live yet another day. "What?!?!"

"It's just," Hermione began kindly, getting a hold on her composure whilst Harry was still silently snickering. "You play for the Cannons, Ron. I mean, do you have any Ministry contacts hanging around the pitch?"

Ron puffed out his chest proudly, swiveling around to see if any females were present for his upcoming declaration. "Why yes, I do happen to be the Keeper for the seventh-best team in Britain! But do you know where Gregory Goyle happens to work, because I certainly do!"

Harry started choking again in shock, Hermione giving him a helpful thump on the back. "You do, Ron? That would be wonderfully helpful if I could speak with him, get some information…"

"I see him every day! He used to work in the mailroom at the Ministry, but no surprise that he was bloody rot at that job. Wilikins got him transferred over to us, so now he waxes the brooms and tests the balls for hexes."

Harry was finally able to breathe properly, so Hermione gave Ron a thankful hug, causing the redhead to turn a bit pink. "Thank you so much, Ron," she replied cheerfully. "With these contacts, I'll have a better idea of what horrible things the Ministry has been doing… Oh goodness me, is that the time?"

Ron and Harry acknowledged a look, a look that proclaimed Hermione to be slightly mad, or at least scatterbrained. It was one of the Trio's favourite activities, to meet at the Mooncalf on Friday evenings to catch up on another week of all the craziness the Wizarding world had to offer. They scarcely ever left before closing, so Hermione's outburst was slightly unexpected.

"Do you have anywhere else to be tonight?" Ron chuckled, draining the remnants of his mocha and leaning on one crossed leg.

"Well, I had rather hoped to get some errands done tomorrow morning," Hermione replied, putting on her traveling cloak. "I'm visiting Narcissa for tea, and I need to get some shopping in beforehand…"

Harry smiled knowingly, but stood up all the same to hug Hermione goodbye. "Floo me this weekend if you find out anything else," he replied, his musky scent pressed up against Hermione characteristically Harry. "And I'll see you at two thirty at the office. Get some sleep, love."

Ron frowned, his eyes narrowed as they did when he was trying to comprehend something complex. "I'll escort you to the Point. Gots something to ask you."

Harry shot the redhead a look of warning, but Ron ignored it, following Hermione to the door. "See you on Sunday, mate!" he called, miffing an elderly lady whose table was near the entrance. "There's no way you Aurors will beat us! You'll be buying me Firewhisky for a month!"

The brown-haired male rolled his eyes, waving farewell to Hermione as she stepped out onto the dark street. Ron was hot on her heels, muttering nervously to himself to the dismay of a passerby, who was more than happy to label him a witless drunk. It wasn't long before the duo reached the Apparition point, seeing as this street was full of mostly Wizarding shops. Hermione spun around to look Ron straight in the eye, tapping her left foot impatiently.

"Yes, Ronald?" she asked, unable to cover up a large sigh at letting herself get into this predicament. "You said you had something"

"Hermione," Ron interrupted rashly, finally turning his bright blue eyes to her hazel ones. "I think I'm in love with you."

Hermione swallowed thickly, having hoped that they would never get to this point. _Bloody hell. _"Listen, Ron," she began slowly. "It's really sweet of you to admit that, but haven't you seen how things have been? I haven't heard from you in weeks!"

"I know," Ron replied mournfully, the inner turmoil evident on his face. "It's because I've been thinking about us. I know we decided to be casual about things, but I feel like I'm ready for the next level."

Hermione bit her lip, _hard_. How could she admit that she wasn't attracted to Ron whatsoever? That another troubled young man was the only person constant in her thoughts, and not a member of the Weasley family? "The thing is, I'm not. In fact, as much as I hate to tell you this, I think we should break it off altogether."

"What?!" Ron shrieked, beginning to wring his hands. "Break it off, after all the history we have together?" His face began to blend with his hair, lip curling in disappointment. "This isn't because of Malfoy, is it?" he finished softly.

"It isn't because of Draco," Hermione responded, feeling horribly guilty that she had to partially lie to a man who had been part of her life for over a decade. "This case is really important to me, and between that, my job and my book, I don't have much time for anything else. I think it'll be good if I'm single for a while."

Ron let out the breath he'd been holding during Hermione's response. "So," he said timidly. "It isn't me, then? And there's no one else?"

"No, Ron," Hermione replied, smiling. "You're the same boy I met years ago; I could never get sick of you. I just need some time alone."

The two embraced none too intimately, Hermione keeping a bubbly smile on her face. "Don't worry, Ron," she offered affectionately. "I'll see you at coffee next week, if not earlier when I talk to Gregory. Cheers!"

She Apparated back to her flat in a swirl of color and sounds, the silence in her brain oddly refreshing, her mind blissfully clear of all emotion and thought. The noise still hadn't flooded back when she crawled into bed later that night, drifting into a nearly dreamless sleep, soothed by the sound of her predictable clock.

Hermione was what her grandmother would have called "bright-eyed and bushy-tailed" by eight o'clock the next morning, bustling around London whilst dressed in a cream-coloured blouse, grey herringbone pencil skirt and a smart pair of cobalt-blue heels. The first stop was Schriftsteller's, where she purchased a few new quills and an additional notebook for her book research, and then getting some salve to replenish her stores next door at the Apothecary. Hermione spent a lengthy amount of time waiting to deposit her paycheck at Gringotts, and was stuck even longer in the Wizarding public library with an incompetent Magical librarian, luckily exiting with her desired novel. She brought in a few suits of Cho's to the special Muggle drycleaner she preferred, the trip nearly causing Hermione to be late to the Malfoys'. Luckily, her last stop was the quickest and most enjoyable of all, popping into Du Bon Pain for some soft croissants and biscuits for tea.

"Oh Hermione," Narcissa cooed, letting the disheveled brunette in through the creaky front door. "It is _so_ good to finally see you! I'm afraid I've been cooped upstairs for the past week, with no human company save the sleeping form of my son!"

"I'm so sorry you've been lonely!" Hermione responded, as the two women entered the miniscule kitchen. "But perhaps I have something that can make up for it… I thought I would treat us to one of my favourites!"

Narcissa's smile widened at the sight of the small bag, clapping her hands together in excitement. "Oh Hermione, you are a dear! Finally, we can have a proper English tea! I was horribly embarrassed last time, but with the circumstances, we're simply not allowed…"

Hermione's brow furrowed as the smaller woman sat her down in the parlour, Narcissa taking over the responsibility of preparing the refreshments. "I'm afraid I'm a bit confused, Narcissa," the brunette responded. "What do you mean, you're not allowed?"

Narcissa set down her paring knife upon the counter, and busied herself by rummaging through the mostly-empty cabinets. "Why, the food allowance," she replied, her voice coming out muffled through the wood. "We are only granted tea, and nothing else, during teatime."

Hermione's hands shook slightly, choosing to rest them against the arms of her chair, her hands aching from squeezing the wood. "You mean to tell me," Hermione began softly. "That the Ministry has you on a _food allowance_? That is simply barbaric!"

Narcissa popped up, her confused expression mirroring Hermione's of a few minutes past. "But Hermione," she protested. "It's simply part of the Witness Protection Program! They simply send us the food at the appropriate time. It's certainly not delicious food, but enough to keep us alive…"

"You can't even buy your own food?" Hermione said, shocked. "Not even biscuits for tea? Why haven't you told me?! I would have brought you food every day!"

"I thought you knew, dear," Narcissa replied, bringing a silver tray out to the parlour, laden with the culinary delights Hermione had brought. "But it isn't so bad, we don't need any help. We are perfectly fine!"

Hermione's hand came to her mouth, another horrible realization about the Witness Protection Program never failing to cause her tender heart serious harm. She had assumed that Narcissa's already slender frame had dwindled due to illness and age, but it suddenly made sense that she was able to see every sinew and vein in Draco's body that one fateful night in Cho's office. The Ministry was slowly starving the purebloods to death, the most sinister of extermination.

"But, but," Hermione stuttered, quite terrified. "Doesn't Draco bring you home food? Especially when your immune system is so low?"

Narcissa shook her head, settling into the armchair near Hermione's. "I simply refused to accept any. We deserve our punishment, and we would just be doing further wrongdoing by breaking the rules. My Draco, bless his heart, refuses to eat any more than I do, although he is a growing young man and needs the sustenance!"

Hermione let out a low moan, covering her face with her hands. "Will they stop at nothing to get what they want?" she said softly, to the point that Narcissa couldn't detect her speech.

"Would you like a biscuit, dear?" Narcissa asked kindly, her demeanor charming despite the unfortunate topic they had just been discussing.

Hermione's face screwed up in disgust, and would have refused point-blank were it not for the influence of Narcissa. The Malfoy matriarch pulled herself up to the extent of her five feet of height, and promptly placed a full plate on Hermione's lap.

"I refuse to eat if you do not," Narcissa responded, a bit of her former pride shining through. "You are still my guest, despite our situation, and I want you to enjoy your generosity as well."

Seeing as her companion was dead serious, Hermione nibbled a croissant, determined to leave as many leftovers on her plate as she possibly could. She was satisfied to see Narcissa pick up a dainty butter biscuit and take a bite, her blue eyes closing in pleasure.

"Oh Hermione, these are simply delightful," Narcissa responded, smiling across the table. "I will simply have to save some of the scones for Draco; he certainly does love them with jam."

Cringing slightly at the way her ears perked up at the sound of her favourite blond's name, Hermione took a sip of her dreadful tea. "Is Draco sleeping again?" she asked innocently, missing the twinkle in Narcissa's eye by averting her own.

"He usually sleeps through tea," Narcissa responded, adding a bit of sugar to her own teacup. "But I expect he'll be up soon, he's such a light sleeper, and our voices will stir him."

Hermione frowned, feeling guilty that she was robbing precious rest from the over-worked provider for the Malfoy family. She took a large bite of her biscuit to occupy her brain, focusing on chewing the fragment into tiny chunks.

"How are your friends doing?" Narcissa asked in an effort to steer the conversation to more pleasant places. "I heard young Potter is engaged to the Weasley girl? And Miss Lovegood won a prize of some sort recently for that magazine of hers?"

Hermione smiled gaily at the mention of her dear ones, setting down her teacup although she wasn't nearly half finished.

"Yes, the Potter-Weasley wedding is scheduled for this summer. I'm acting as Maid of Honour; it's quite a surprising privilege for me. Molly Weasley can't stop adding to the guest list, the dear thing. Luna's been—"

Hermione's speech stopped midsentence, because every part of her body, save her eyes, ceased to function because of the sight that had just entered her line of vision. Draco waltzed into the kitchen shirtless, distracted by that morning's _Daily Prophet_, which he was reading intently. Hermione would have been able to handle his chiseled chest, having experienced apoplectic shock the first time she'd viewed it, but his back was something entirely different.

Like his front, Draco's back was exquisitely formed, each and every muscle defined, especially his spine, which was clearly visible. His broad shoulders were enough to make any warm-blooded female swoon, and the soft blond hair that skimmed across the nape of his neck was surprisingly sensual. However, what had captured Hermione's attention was the sinister tattoo that lay between his right shoulder blade and the bones that made up his spinal column. Destined to never glow green and cause pain to its owner again, the Dark Mark laid solemnly on the smooth plane of Draco's back, the dark somber eyes boring their way directly into Hermione's heart.

She couldn't help but shudder in response, and this action combined with her lack of speech attracted Narcissa's attention. The blonde swiveled around in her chair, eyes lighting up at the sight of her only son.

"Draco, you're up!" Narcissa said excitedly, jumping to her feet. "Did you sleep well, my darling? Hermione brought us the most delicious biscuits for tea!"

Upon hearing Hermione's name, Draco lowered the newspaper, slowly turning around to lock eyes with the dazed brunette. "Good afternoon, Hermione," he said pleasantly, his deep voice curling her toes despite her current shocked state.

The blond fluidly opened a nearby door, pulling out a spare cornflower blue t-shirt and slipping it on and over his head. He joined the females in the parlour, crossing his long limbs to sit comfortably on the carpet.

"Now, what are we having?"

His question caused Narcissa to go into frenzy, procuring a cup and saucer for Draco, ducking into the kitchen to get some unknown object. Hermione sat rigidly in her chair, mechanically chewing on her croissant, trying her best to not look at the seated young man. When she braved a glance, Draco smiled at her warmly, shooting her a wink as though he hadn't a care in the world.

Narcissa soon returned with a tiny jar of jam, its contents being nearly spent. She handed the glass object to her son, who kissed his mother in thanks. The seated blond began to carefully apply strawberry preserves to half of a scone as Narcissa cleared her throat, taking a sip of tea.

"Hermione dear, you were saying something about Luna?" she asked politely, blue eyes focusing upon her guest.

"Oh yes," Hermione responded, feeling rather uncomfortable that she could feel Draco's gaze burning into her skin. "Luna is the editor for _The Quibbler_, and they recently won a journaling prize for Best Interview."

"Isn't that splendid?" Narcissa replied, turning to her son. "Draco, don't you subscribe to _The Quibbler_? I do know that you love their satire section."

Draco nodded, taking a hearty sip from his teacup. "I find the magazine more entertaining than _The Prophet_, which is biased and veiled. I only asked that you purchase today's copy, because Matthew had said they mentioned Lucius."

Hermione's surprise and delight at the fact that such a self-righteous young man as Draco Malfoy would be a subscriber to _The Quibbler _immediately evaporated by the sheer weight with which Draco had spoken his father's name. His grey eyes were slightly misty, but Narcissa looked near tears at the mention of their missing family member.

"And what did it say?" she asked fearfully, her teacup rattling on its saucer.

"Nothing of consequence," Draco replied evenly, placing his hand on his mother's in a tender desire to comfort. "Just mentioned the fact that he's being moved to a more exclusive cell, with increased Dementor surveillance."

"Did they mention why?" Narcissa responded with effort, her whole body shaking with emotion, causing Hermione to feel that she had inadvertently interrupted a private moment.

"No, Mother," Draco replied softly, getting up to embrace his trembling mother, who tore away and scurried into the kitchen.

"I just need a moment," Narcissa choked out, the sound of her feet running up the stairs echoing into the parlour.

Hermione sat frozen in her chair, looking up to find Draco equally stunned, although his handsome face was clearly distraught. Not caring whether he would protest or not, Hermione swiftly rose and pulled the imposing blond into a tight embrace. At first his tall frame was as solid and unyielding as steel, but Draco eventually softened, melding into Hermione's body as he settled his chin on the top of her head.

"I love her so much," he said so softly that Hermione wouldn't have been able to hear his voice were it not completely silent in the room. "She's the one person in this world who has always believed in me, so it kills me when she's upset. I try my hardest to make things perfect for her, but life gets in the way."

Hermione sighed, pulling slightly away to look up at Draco's face. His grey eyes had enormous pupils and his full lips were contorted in a state of worry, still managing to look absolutely gorgeous in his misery.

"Of course life gets in the way, Draco," Hermione replied, keeping her arms tightly wrapped around his neck. "But all you can do is your best: comfort her when she's upset, take care of her when she's ill, and be there when she needs someone to talk to."

Draco's large hand slid down the contours of her hip, causing a very inappropriate reaction in the form of heightened sensitivity and goose bumps on Hermione's skin.

"I do all of those things, but it never feels like it's enough," Draco responded with a sigh, leaning closer into Hermione.

Hermione couldn't help but place her hand on his angular cheekbone, looking deeply into his mesmerizing eyes. "Draco, you _are_ enough. Narcissa couldn't have asked for a more devoted son. I think that in your quest to take care of her, you forgot to watch out for yourself."

Draco breathed deeply and closed his eyes, settling his forehead against Hermione's to create an even more intimate moment. While the Malfoys' flat had always been on the chilly side, Hermione couldn't remember a time where she had felt so warm, so safe, so connected. It was really quite irrational, the intense feelings and attachments she had formed for Draco since their fateful encounter a fortnight before. Was she falling too fast, or had these sensibilities been left over from her Hogwarts days?

When Draco opened up his eyes and enveloped Hermione in his piercing gaze, something quiet and frozen clicked into place. Startled, Hermione drew away, holding a hand to her forehead to appease the swirling thoughts that encompassed her voluminous brain. She would have bolted outside, letting the cold air wash over her face and rejuvenate her senses, had it not been for one simple phrase that shattered Hermione's former life into a million tiny pieces.

"Wait, Hermione."

Hermione spun around, only to find that a pair of smooth heated lips were desperately pressing against her own. She wrapped her arms around his pale neck yet again, leaning into the most magnificent kiss she had ever received. Draco's tongue slid effortlessly into her mouth, Hermione gasping at the tantalizing feeling, tentatively responding to his ministrations. Hermione marveled at the softness of his lips, which took a moment to press kisses along her jawline, down the slope of her neck, and the delicate bones that framed her décolletage. After replacing his tongue inside her mouth, Draco's hands gripped Hermione's thighs, picking her up and locking her legs around his waist, allowing the brunette to get better access in their snogging.

Unlike when she had kissed Ron, Hermione wasn't under the impression that she was attached to one of those contraptions Muggles called a "vacuum cleaner". Draco was talented and responsive, making Hermione's insides squirm with pleasure. Her hands took the time to explore Draco's silky platinum blond locks, while Draco was lovingly caressing the skin of her lower back underneath her blouse.

After losing air several times, the couple drew apart, Hermione's eyes slightly glazed and Draco's Nordic skin splotchy with pink, blond tresses adorably mussed. Draco's hands kept Hermione perched, the two staring intensely at one another as they caught their breath. Draco couldn't resist smirking, despite the emotional moment that had let to their physical intimacy.

"Damn, Hermione that was a _kiss_!"

"So, Hermione, how was your weekend?" Harry asked a smirk on his face that would have made a whole generation of Malfoys proud. The two were waiting for the lift, seeing as Zacharias's office was located on the fifth floor. Harry was doing professional-chic today, a hunter green jumper over a white collared shirt, black slacks matching his black dress shoes perfectly.

"My weekend was just excellent, why are you using that tone of face with me?" Hermione retorted, sipping her latte and keeping her new handbag close by, for pickpockets loved to work in such large crowds. She was wearing a set of light-blue dress robes, and had even curled her eyelashes for the occasion

"Oh, I don't know," Harry began, following his fellow Ministry employees as the lift doors sprang open, an immensely large amount of people squeezing into a tiny space. "I just heard from a little sparkly Snitch that _someone_ got some action!!!!"

Hermione's face flared up like Mount Vesuvius, executing an excellent jab to Harry's ribs with her left elbow. "Harry!" she hissed, trying her best to hide herself with her coffee cup, failing miserably. "Do you ever turn off, Pothead?"

Harry erupted in laughter, causing several fellow passengers to stair at the pair, who were acting like a bunch of loonies. Out of the corner of her eye Hermione could see Padma Patil, who worked as a secretary in Michael Corner's office, stifling a grin with her hazelnut-hued hand.

_Bloody hell, I'll soon be the laughingstock of the Ministry._

As soon as the doors opened for Floor Five, Hermione shot out of the lift, maintaining a steady, frenzied pace as she walked down the corridor. "What, did you not get any action?" Harry called, jogging to try and keep up with his offended friend, eyes bright with mirth.

Hermione stopped promptly, Harry gasping for air once he caught up to the brunette. The young woman's face was the color of a Valentine's Day card, hazel eyes big and puffy. Harry sighed, wiping off his brow and setting his hand on her shoulder in an expression of comfort.

"I'm sorry, Hermione. You do realize I meant that all in jest, yes?"

She took a moment to compose herself, taking deep breaths through her nose and applying a fresh coat of lip balm, the routine explicably calming.

"Yes, Harry," Hermione replied pleasantly, her eyes finally meeting her best friend's. "Although, could you ask me such a delicate question in a less public place next time?!"

Harry uttered what would be best described as a giggle, pulling Hermione into a quick hug. "Oh Mione, you're my favourite. Although… did you know that Smith's office is second from the lift?"

Hermione's embarrassment was replaced by sheer horror, Harry finding himself chasing after the brunette once again, making a mental note to spend more time on the Quidditch pitch.

"By the way," Hermione added, knocking on the plaque that read "Zacharias N. Smith, Ministry Official Documents Deputy", trying her best not to sneer lasciviously. "It was some bloody good action, if you really want to know."

Harry took a moment to let her words sink in, his heart swelling at the prospect of Hermione finally finding a man worthy of her vivacious personality. She'd been lonely for years, and it was thrilling that Hermione was interested in something other than her work. He smiled fondly to himself, and then accompanied Hermione into the office.

"I'm afraid I can't help you," Zacharias said smugly, leaning back in his upholstered walnut chair. He was smoking from an antique Wizard's pipe, the smoke obscuring nearly everything in the room save for the bright dandelion shade of his hair. The room seemed cramped with black paint on the walls, the ornate knickknacks and portraits suggesting to Hermione that Zacharias had been an interesting addition to Hufflepuff back in his school days.

"You have no information whatsoever?" Hermione asked, puzzled. "But you co-wrote the Witness Protection Law!"

"Of course I did," Zacharias replied, crossing his fingers neatly on his desk. "But it doesn't mean I can give you any more information then what's already in there." His head gestured to the stuffed bookcase that stood to his right. A worn copy of _Witness Protection Program, established 1999_, identical to the copy Hermione had perused through earlier, sat on the shelf.

"So," she challenged, not willing to give up so easily. "You are totally aware of the fact that there is a food allowance under the Program?" Harry let out a sound of surprise, but Hermione ignored him, keeping her eyes focused on the apparition that was Zacharias.

"I wrote it, didn't I?" the blond chuckled, as if Hermione had made an especially humorous joke.

Hermione clenched her teeth, using her left hand to fan cool air onto her face. She couldn't drink her latte any longer, the heat of the smoky room and that of her internal rage reminding Hermione of the thick humidity of the Hogwarts greenhouses.

"You're telling me," she began dangerously, "That you support the discrimination and near enslavement of a particular group of people, namely the purebloods that live in Wizarding Britain?"

Zacharias tossed his pipe into a cauldron full of water, the pot shaking the floor from the effort. He leaned across the desk, his face switching from ennui to steely resolve.

"Now you just listen, _Miss Granger_," he replied sinisterly. "You're throwing the term 'pureblood' around incorrectly. I'm a pureblood, and to be grouped together with that pitiful group of brainless fuckers is an irrevocable insult!"

"How can you be so prejudiced?" Harry spoke up, a deep crease forming between his furrowed brows. "You've seen what discrimination leads to, pure misery!"

"Oh, indeed I remember," Zacharias replied quietly, swiveling his focus from Harry and back to Hermione. "And so does our little Mudblood here. She can remember very well what it felt like to be the lowest of the low, just as my entire seven years in Hufflepuff was considered to be a waste of education. But I feel that everyone got what they deserved in the end." The blond yawned, leaning back once again, appearing as though he was squabbling with a pair of toddlers.

A large thump echoed through the ceiling, accompanied by the sound of hammers and wood being rearranged. Zacharias's eyes flickered upwards, and then turned a lazy smile upon Hermione, like a fat tomcat stalking its prey. "Oh, never mind that. The Sixth floor is receiving repairs, the Bundimums chewed up nearly all the baseboards. Now… where were we?"

Hermione glared at the blond, disgusted by his words and supercilious manner. It reminded her of the old days of Lucius Malfoy, the sensibility that one man truly controlled an entire society. She couldn't help but feel that the two of them had walked into a trap, receiving a bit more exposure than desired for their secret sleuthing concerning the Witness Protection Plan

"So this is your little revenge," she said softly, causing Zacharias's smile to grow even wider. "Willing to kill Death Eater families because you were in Hufflepuff. What an equal exchange!"

"How glorious it would be," Zacharias began loftily, twirling a quill between his fingers. "To see the once-proud Draco Malfoy rolling around in his own filth, getting fucked by his own father, while his mother shat on their faces. Of course, I would never set foot within ten kilometers of such degradation…"

Harry stood up angrily, and Hermione's eyebrows shot up at the appalling insult, splashing her latte across the carpeted floor.

"Fuck you!" Harry bellowed, rolling up his shirtsleeves, exposing his sinewy forearms. "You have no right to say something like that about Malfoy, who gave the Order countless secrets about Voldemort!"

"Of course I have the right!" the blond shot back, laughing heartily. "In case you haven't noticed, the authority around here has changed in recent years. Ask your Muddy frizzy-haired friend!" His cruel blue eyes turned upon Hermione, lip curling into a sneer. "Isn't Cho Chang simply _marvelous?_"

Harry let out another tormented outburst, and would have launched across the desk at the smug Hufflepuff were it not for a most unexpected and inexplicable event.

Cr-Cr-CRACK!

To Hermione's disbelief, an ebony grand piano fell through what remained of the upper floorboards, obliterating what had once been Zacharias's cream-coloured ceiling. The damage was instantaneous: The piano completely covered up the space that had been taken up by Zacharias's elaborate desk, the blond disappearing from view and into the abyss. Part of the lid to the piano snapped off from the pressure of landing on the floor, hitting Harry squarely in the forehead, the young man falling unconscious, blood spurting onto the deep green carpet. Hermione, who had remained seated, could only watch in horror as her legs were pinned beneath the girth that made up the once-magnificent piano, the pain staggering.

Hermione screamed and screamed and screamed, dust and little chunks of dust sifting through the air to settle next to her body, the smoke in the room growing thicker due to the debris. Her legs being trapped and mind going into shock, Hermione flailed about desperately, trying in vain to drag herself out from under the wreckage. Visions of her parents and Harry flew across her mind, and even the silver eyes of a most beloved Slytherin…

"Harry!" she shrieked, her eyes landing on the nearby form of her best friend, whose wound was still bleeding copiously. The lights in her mind were beginning to dim, not unlike the sun setting at the end of another long day, but in a more sinister form. Hermione struggled in vain to stay awake, focusing on the large gash in the ceiling that had opened the gates to hell.

The healers would later say it was a hallucination, but before she succumbed to the overwhelming darkness, Hermione could have sworn she saw the face of Justin Finch-Fletchety in the hole, peering down at her.


	5. Chapter 5

_No, I don't own anything._

Thanks so much to the beta evenstar101, she really does make everything better:)

Chapter 5

Hermione had read in novels that fainting was an easily accessible out-of-body experience, a period of time in which blurred images, subconscious feelings and flowery dreams made their debut. Her blackout was in no way as melodramatic, only having recollection of the darkness lulling her to sleep, and the stiff, sudden jolt back to earth a day later.

The world was strangely quiet as she lay on her little cot, the stark white walls lined with an endless array of potions and elixirs. Part of her relished living in the Magical world, where healers didn't see the need to poke and prod and stuff their patients full of tranquilizers, and then keep them cooped up for centuries. Hermione was quite aware that she had extensive damage in her lower legs, but the pain was non-existent, despite the fact that she could move her limbs slowly underneath the coverlet.

The silence was broken by a thud on the other side of the wall, startling the brunette and causing her to sit up much too quickly for her delicate condition. Muffled speech was thrown back and forth before the door burst open, revealing a harried Draco Malfoy with a bunch of flowers in hand, nearly wrestling off an indignant Mungo's employee.

"Hermione!" he breathed, taking another step into the room, thereby setting his entire frame on fire. The sunlight had seemed so innocent before, beaming into the space as it would on any other day, but now Draco was on magnificent display, the fairness of his hair and eyes and skin and shirt transformed into pure gleaming platinum. Hermione smiled softly, settling back against the downy pillows.

"Draco," she whispered. "You're here…"

Draco smiled in response, but was hassled by the mousy orderly who gave him a swift jab to the ribs, a permanent glare ingrained in his brow. "Are you acquainted with this young man, Miss Granger?"

Hermione nodded happily, feeling grateful that she had a visitor, considering that she couldn't quite remember what had happened to her. "He's a dear friend of mine, don't worry!" she chirped happily, the orderly slowly taking his hand off Draco's bicep.

"Draco Malfoy doesn't have clearance to be here, but if Hermione Granger wants him to stay, Merlin help us if she doesn't get what she wants…" the smaller man muttered, already well away from her bed by the time his sentence finished.

Draco let out an amused chuckle, his lean body moving fluidly to sit on the corner of her bed. "With fame comes perks, eh?" Draco teased, gently patting her hand. "But how are you feeling?"

Hermione shrugged. "Not horrible, but I have a lightheaded feeling, suggesting that I'm under a great deal of sedation at the moment."

Draco sighed and gave her a sympathetic smile. "Well no wonder, considering what you've just been through," he replied. "I rushed over as soon as Chang told me you were here, although I had to argue with the healers to let them tell me anything…"

"Draco," Hermione asked softly, her companion's eyes softening when focusing on her face. "What did happen? I'm afraid I'm having a bit of memory loss at the moment."

Draco made an unusually tender motion then, gently stroking loose curls away from her forehead and softly caressing her cheekbone. "Ah, my poor little dear," he said quietly, smiling faintly. "You don't remember at all? Well, you insisted that you and Harry take the stairs on the way back from Zacharias Smith's office, and you tripped Harry on the way down. You tried to steady him, but the two of you fell down the entire two flights of stairs, Harry getting a concussion and you breaking both your legs."

Hermione inhaled deeply, relishing the feeling of his warm hand against her skin. "Did I really?" she replied. "Wow, I must be clumsier than I thought… Is Ginny here?"

Draco nodded, drawing his hand away and looking concernedly at her. "Yes, she's visiting Potter. He's getting the final checkup from the healer. Shall I get them for you?"

"Could you?" Hermione replied gratefully. "It's not that I don't enjoy your company, but I am sure that Ginny is simply beside herself…"

"You could say that again!" Ginny screeched, bursting through Hermione's curtain and nearly shoving the fabric off of its brackets. "Dear Circe, I thought you two had died! I'd never be able to get over it!" She began to squeeze Hermione with a Quidditch-honed force, Draco snickering in the background.

"Do be careful, Gin," Harry replied, walking through the doorway with Neville and Luna close behind. "She's just suffered a traumatic incident, wouldn't want her to have a bloody heart attack!"

Ginny blushed sheepishly and let Hermione go, slinking back to the form of her fiancée. "Sorry Hermione," she muttered, eyes lightening up considerably when she noticed the dreamboat named Draco Malfoy was sitting at Hermione's bedside. "Why is he—"

"We're so glad that you're healthy, sweetheart," Luna interrupted dreamily, sitting herself next to Draco. "The news gave me such a fright." The willowy blonde took her hand as Neville leaned down, letting Hermione see a bursting bouquet of wildflowers.

"Luna and I picked them," Neville said kindly, adorning a crooked smile. "We thought you'd enjoy a bit of cheer during your stay here."

"Oh Neville, they're lovely," Hermione replied enthusiastically as the tall young man conjured a vase and settled the blooms on her bedside table. "It's so kind of you to come see me."

"Would you expect any less from a best friend?" Luna asked, giving Hermione a sweet peck on the cheek. "I know it's hard for you to believe, but we love and care about you very much."

Hermione settled back in bed, smiling faintly. "And I thank you all for coming to visit me, it means so much." She noticed Harry was leaning against the door with his arms crossed, a thick white bandage taking up most of the right side of his head. "Will you not come and give me a kiss?" she teased her best friend with a twinkle in her eye.

Harry chortled, squeezing between Draco and Luna to give a proper hello. "I was waiting until the crowd cleared, but it seems you are impatient, Hermione," he responded good-naturedly. Like his fiancée, he suddenly noticed the presence of Draco, smiling knowingly. "Hello Malfoy, it's good to see you."

Draco turned a bit pink, body stiffening as he rose from the bed. "Hello, Potter. Hermione, I'll be back in a bit, just thought I'd pop into the canteen."

The blonde disappearing into the hallway like a silvery whirlwind caused Hermione's sickroom space to fill with raucous laughter, Ginny and Harry chuckling profusely and Luna and Neville wearing identical smug grins.

"What?" Hermione asked irritatingly, smile quickly turning into a frown. "Did he forget to tuck in his shirt or something?"

"What? Nooooo, Hermione," Harry wheezed, Ginny continuing to snicker in an evil manner. "We just think it's adorable how devoted he is to you. To think Draco Malfoy had a heart…"

"There's nothing going on between us," Hermione hissed, causing Luna to raise an eyebrow. "It's simply a professional working relationship."

"Riiiiiight," Neville responded, surprising them all and pressing a kiss to Hermione's cheek. "I've got to go see Scamander. Feel better, love."

Hermione waved goodbye to her old friend, Ginny finally taking the empty space in which Draco had resided. "So, how is he in the sack?" the redhead asked gleefully, her blue eyes dancing in excitement. Luna let out a tiny giggle at this statement, and Harry had a haughty look on his face.

"I'll have you know," Hermione scolded, her dark glare causing the trio to simultaneously start laughing, "that Draco and I have had no physical contact whatsoever."

_You're a bloody liar, Hermione._

"The look on his face didn't say that," Luna pointed out, crossing her arms. "You may be helping him with his Ministry situation, but it appears as though he's willing to pay you back with a little 'alone time'…"

"Oh stop it, you three!" Hermione squealed, as another round of giggling afflicted her friends at Luna's bold statement. "I'm telling you, there's nothing there. You three will be the first to know if anything happens, okay?"

"Am I not allowed to know?" Draco asked curiously, standing in the doorway with an apple and a cup of yogurt, looking intrigued.

Her friends doing their best to cover their amused grins, Hermione replied charmingly, "Oh Draco, it's nothing of importance. I see you've found something to eat?"

"Speaking of eating," Harry interrupted, standing up from the bed. "You're due to be fed soon, Hermione. Let's give her space, girls." His two companions exited, whispering excitedly, and Harry studied Draco with a thoughtful expression. "I suppose you can stay, Malfoy," he finished, taking a few seconds to whisper in Draco's ear before he too whisked into the hall.

"What was that about?" Hermione asked as Draco sat back down on her bed, munching happily.

"Oh," Draco replied, swallowing his bit of apple. "Threatened to Avada me if I tried anything funny, the usual older brother statement."

Hermione shook her head, watching as Draco opened the carton of yogurt and dipped a plastic spoon in. "Was the cafeteria crowded?"

"Not horribly," Draco replied, tentatively tasting his meal. "It's eight-thirty in the evening, after all. Visiting hours will be over soon."

Hermione was horribly distracted by the way Draco was eating his yogurt, but managed to coherently respond. "Aww, it's a shame you couldn't stay longer," she replied absentmindedly, watching Draco's pink tongue lap up the creamy white substance. She remembered what Draco's tongue felt like, and it was a _very pleasant_ memory…

"I know," Draco replied with a sigh, polishing off the carton with a few more bites. "But I'll try to be back sometime this week, and I might have a proposition for you."

"Oh really?" Hermione replied interestedly, noticing fondly that Draco's large calloused hand enclosed her own as she spoke.

"I was thinking," Draco began, his grey eyes looking rather nervous. "That we could go out together next week? That's if you're feeling better, of course."

Hermione wanted to jump up and down and squeal like a fan girl, but her sanity and physical condition prevented her from doing so. "I'd love to," Hermione responded warmly, giving Draco's hand a squeeze. "These bones will be good as new by then. Won't you have trouble getting the night off?"

Draco brushed away her concern, not being able to wipe off the grin on his face. "Oh, don't worry about that. I can always switch shifts, and as long as we're home by eleven…"

Hermione caught his unspoken meaning and nodded, shifting her weight to rise up on her elbows. "I'm excited," she said kindly, adoring the little creases that formed next to Draco's eyes when he was amused. "What are our plans?"

"Hmm," Draco responded cryptically, shooting her a wink. "I suppose I'll have to throw something special together. You just worry about feeling better; we can't have an ill Hermione Granger!"

The two smirked at one another, Hermione surprising even herself when she reached up and brushed her lips against Draco's. The blond sighed at the surprising contact, leaning forward to continue their kiss and take the strain off of Hermione's body. Draco always smelled so good, the spicy scent of his sandalwood musk tickling Hermione's nostrils as they exchanged a soft open-mouthed kiss.

"Mmm," Hermione giggled, pulling away and snuggling deeper into her blankets. "That was some delicious yogurt you had, French vanilla…"

Draco snickered, bringing his arms closer around her body and giving her a lengthy embrace. "You are simply a little sweet, aren't you?" he asked, pressing a kiss to her forehead and drawing away.

Hermione looked disappointed, but Draco simply patted her arm. "Regretfully, I have work. And besides, Potter is standing outside; I believe he wants to talk to you."

Hermione frowned, reaching forward for the blond to experience one last spine-tingling kiss. "I'll see you later this week?"

"Later this week," Draco repeated, shrugging on his black wool jacket. "Don't worry, Granger, the only girl in my life besides you is Mum, and I certainly don't snog her!"

Hermione giggled as he finally left, waving through the window before his platinum-blond mane finally went out of sight. Harry entered seconds later, shaking his head.

"Dear Merlin," he huffed dramatically, giving Hermione a hug. "Thought I was going to fall asleep out there. Be glad you're my dearest friend, Hermione."

Hermione rolled her eyes theatrically as Harry climbed onto the bed with her, settling his head upon her shoulder. With a swift swish of his wand, the curtain was magically closed and silenced to outside intrusion. Hermione turned to Harry in confusion, hazel eyes wide.

"Why such the secrecy? And what about Ginny and Luna?"

"They're Flooing Ron at the moment; he's in Burkina Faso and hasn't heard of our accident yet. I also asked for a little alone time with my best friend because…we need to discuss some things."

"What might that be?" Hermione replied, snuggling closer to Harry and gently patting his bandage. "Are you feeling—"

"I'm fine, Hermione," Harry butted in sharply, eyebrows rising in apology. "Listen, I'm going to just say it: We didn't fall down two flights of stairs, we were nearly assassinated."

"Assassinated?" Hermione croaked, pulling away from him slightly. "You've got to be kidding!"

Her best friend stared back at her matter-of-factly, green eyes wide with seriousness. "You were there, Hermione, you know what happened… The piano didn't exactly fall of its own accord."

Hermione held a hand to her forehead as a fuzzy memory slipped into her periphery, fixating on a particular face. "Oh my god!" she shrieked suddenly, scaring the bejeezus out of Harry and causing her brown curls to flail widely. "Justin! Harry, it was Justin, I saw him!"

"Justin, as in Justin Finch-Fletchety?" Harry replied hoarsely. "Dear Merlin, what has gotten into that boy? We've already have a warrant for him for illegal trading and burglary!"

"Why would he try to kill us?" Hermione said apprehensively, clutching Harry's hand with a strength not displayed by her delicate frame.

"I don't know," Harry responded somberly as he wrenched his bruised hand from the frail woman's grasp. "But seeing how that's come to light, I'll be asking that his case be transferred to me, seeing as it's personal this time. Too bad he killed his accomplice trying to take us out."

Hermione clapped a hand to her mouth, the realization of the horrific event hitting her full force. "Zacharias… he's dead?"

Harry laughed darkly, shaking his head. "Hermione, how couldn't he be dead? The piano engulfed him! He probably didn't feel a thing, it was so sudden. What a load of luck we've had with Hufflepuff house lately, bloody hell…"

Hermione bit her lip, settling back against the pillows and snuggling up to Harry's side. "Harry," she began inquisitively. "If we didn't fall down the stairs, why are you telling everyone that story?"

The dark-haired young man looked back at her, eyebrows raised. "Do you not remember what you're investigating? This business about Draco being enslaved by the Ministry, it's much larger than we ever imagined! This is big news, something that could get us killed, and it almost did. We can't leak it to the media yet, not before it's all figured out."

Hermione nodded thoughtfully, still in shock from the events of the previous day. "Whoever they are, they're trying to keep us quiet, no doubt. But an accident like that isn't enough to stop me… I just don't know how they'd know what I'm up to!"

"Did you sign in at the Archives when you investigated?" Harry asked wryly. "Not to mention you've been spotted in public with both Theo Nott and Draco Malfoy…"

Hermione groaned deeply. "How could I have been so stupid?" she exclaimed, lip jutting out in a pout. "I'm going to have to disguise myself from here on out, need to keep things as quiet as possible."

"Harry?" came a soft voice drifting from the doorway, belonging to the youngest Weasley. "Ron wants to speak with you since Hermione's not well…"

Harry bounded from the bed, dismissing the protective spells and pressing a kiss to Hermione's forehead. "Don't worry about things right now: you need to focus on recuperating. I'll see you tomorrow morning?"

Hermione nodded in reply, waving faintly as her best friend rejoined his fiancée outside. She turned to her heaping bedside table, which was covered with cards, balloons and flowers proclaiming get-well wishes. A large card from her office, signed by her co-workers and a loopy signature from Cho was promptly tossed in the bedside trash. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Mr. Lovegood, most of the Order and Hermione's classmates had all sent card; Mr. Lovegood's featuring a grotesque singing toad. Neville's bouquet of wildflowers was accompanied by lavender roses she recognized as the ones that Draco had brought earlier, but a third vase full of red camellias remained unfamiliar. Attached to the camellias and addressed in a small untidy scrawl were fond feelings from Theo Nott, along with a promise to visit the next day.

Hermione couldn't help but flush in pleasure, delighted that Theo had taken the time to be so concerned. It was somewhat troubling that she found herself becoming quickly wrapped up in Draco and therefore wouldn't be able to pay Theo proper attention, but the thought of Draco's affection soon drowned out any guilt in her mind. Snuggling down in the covers with a slight frown on her face, Hermione dozed for the next half hour, deep in thought, before the healer came to check on her prized patient.

* * *

It was the following Wednesday when Hermione teetered into the Unicorn, feeling embarrassed for what seemed like the fiftieth time that week. It was one thing going to work in the rigid leg braces that her healer required she wear for stability, but Hermione found that dressing for a date was near impossible with the clunky things on. She'd settled on a nice pair of black slacks and a silky wrap blouse, but still felt rather uncomfortable that such a claud was going out to dinner with _Draco Malfoy_, hotness extraordinaire.

Hermione giggled as the Maître'd let her over to the correct table where Draco sat expectantly, a broad grin on his handsome features.

"Hello Miss," he greeted, standing up to help Hermione settle comfortably in her chair. "You shouldn't have insisted on meeting me here, it looks like you're having a hell of a time getting around!"

Hermione brushed off his concern, although she couldn't help smiling at the attention. "It's good practice for me, no worries. How are you on this fine day?"

"Just fine," Draco responded, ruffling his hair in the manner that made Hermione's heart thump wildly. "Things were busy today, but that's not surprising. How's Cho?"

Hermione raised an eyebrow, taking a sip of her water. "You would know better than I would, wouldn't you?"

Draco snickered, squeezing her hand in appreciation, the magical handcuff drifting aside to accommodate. "Touché, touché. I just wanted to make sure she wasn't hassling you over your injury, the bloody bitch!"

"Draco!" Hermione hissed, stifling her own grin. "Don't say that here! And no, if anything she was nicer this week than usual. Roger must be playing his part in bed very well… and you're doing a lovely job of cleaning out her chimney."

Her blond companion snorted into his menu, his frame shaking slightly with laughter. He emerged a few seconds later with a bit of a pink face, smiling sheepishly. "Are we thinking the chips today, my dear?" Draco joked, trying to detract his embarrassment by gesturing to the menu item.

"What a fine, fine thing to order at such an exemplary institution," Hermione scoffed, Draco rolling his eyes at her big words. "The soup is supposed to be excellent, think I'll try that!"

"Soup?" Draco responded, flipping to the section that held the largest portions. "Here you are, making it possible to actually eat at a restaurant that I don't work at, and you're contemplating the soup? Besides, you need to keep your strength up!"

"Soup…with side of sandwich?" Hermione teased. "I'm fine, Draco. Besides, St. Mungo's wasn't so horrible, I had plenty of company, and the flowers I received kept the mood cheery."

"Who sent you the red flowers?" Draco asked, taking a large sip of his water.

"Theo Nott," Hermione responded, causing Draco to sputter and nearly spit out his drink. "What, don't you like him? I thought you two were old friends!"

"Oh, I… like him," Draco coughed into his fabric napkin. "It's simply been a long time since I last spoke with Theo. I didn't know you two were friendly…"

"We're not friendly per se," Hermione replied, shutting her menu and setting it down upon her fine china plate. "He was pouring champagne at the annual Ministry meeting, and he must have heard of my accident, that's all. He came to visit me when I was in hospital."

The blond frowned sourly, but quickly covered up his emotions when he realized Hermione was looking at him. "He always was a nice chap; it's good that you two are getting reacquainted."

Hermione grasped Draco's hand, gazing at him levelly. "There's something you're not telling me," she replied softly. "What is it?"

"It's nothing of consequence," Draco replied, noticing that their waiter was heading over to the table. "I just found it interesting that Theo and I are in the same wretched boat, that's all. Not to mention he has the tendency to bed the same women as me…"

The brunette opened her mouth wide at this inflammatory comment and would have responded were it not time to order. "The filet mignon, please," Draco said charmingly, turning his lovely grey eyes upon Hermione. "And you, my sweet?"

"The potato soup with turkey on wheat, no mayo," she replied briskly, the gleam in her eyes growing exponentially, Draco completely unaware of her alarm.

The waiter left quickly, allowing Hermione to pounce on her date, desperate to weed the information out of him. "Bed the same women? What is that supposed to mean?!"

Draco lifted up his hands in surprise, eyebrows shooting up to his hairline. "Blimey, Hermione, don't get your knickers in a knot! Theo Nott usually goes after the same women that I'm interested in… it's an old Slytherin rivalry…"

Hermione relaxed slightly, frowning, causing Draco to lean across the table and cup her chin in his hand. "Hey, don't worry about it," he soothed. "I'm sorry for bringing it up, now I've ruined our nice little date!"

Hermione let out a small giggle at his comment, smiling back at the handsome blond. "You could never ruin it," she replied, resting her hand on top of his, noticing that the soft green of his shirt made his pale skin glow in the dim candlelight. Draco looked delicious, and now she was thinking about him without that shirt on, tenderly kissing her into oblivion, running those rough hands over her skin…

"You alive, Hermione?" Draco chuckled, his deep voice drawing her from her naughty images and back to the startling silver of his eyes. Hermione squeaked slightly, her blush only increasing with the warm laugh that came from deep inside Draco, his fingers brushing against a curl that had fallen from her elegant chignon.

Hermione's eyelids softly fluttered closed as Draco's nose touched her cheek, his lips lingering on the contours of her cheekbone before drawing back, an enigmatic smile on his face. She couldn't resist sighing, loudly, trying her best not to pout.

"That was just mean of you, Draco," she whinged, the blond's smile transitioning to a smirk as she spoke. "Tempting me like you do…"

"I'm afraid I simply can't resist myself around such a lovely young woman," Draco replied smugly, sipping from his waterglass nearly luxuriously. "Don't worry my dear; you'll get your goodnight kiss."

Hermione tried her best to damper her excitement as the food arrived, the knowing smile on her date's face apparent even through the steam that wafted from his steak. The brunette tried her best to pay attention to her own food, the scent of the stew heavenly upon her nostrils, but Draco's comment had her hopelessly distracted. It was so strange to see Draco Malfoy act in such a kind way to her, the years of torment and insults still residing in her brain. With his family's fall, Draco had been taught humility, and despite her apprehension, it was completely rational to be on a date with the Malfoy heir. What a crazy month this had been! She had almost died, had to dump Ron, uncovered a vast Ministry conspiracy, and now Draco Malfoy was her…boyfriend?

Hermione frowned as she stirred the potato chunks around in her porcelain soup bowl, listening to Draco tell entertaining stories about work, and how Annette was hopelessly besotted with him and how he felt bad about rejecting her. For the second time that night, she was so lost in her thoughts that Draco had to repeat her name three times before she noticed he was directing his speech towards her.

"Wait, pardon? I'm sorry, Draco," Hermione apologized, taking a tiny bit of her sandwich and swallowing. "I'm horribly distracted tonight."

Draco simply smiled, shaking his head in an amused manner, taking time to cut his steak into perfectly even pieces. Hermione found it endlessly entertaining that Draco still had the proper manners of a Pureblood, despite the disparaging drag through the mud the Malfoy family name had endured. When she rose to visit the restroom he immediately rose, and followed the same routine when Hermione returned, the movement causing her heart to throb at an unnatural speed. In fact, Hermione's state of being flustered and inability to form coherent sentences continued on throughout the meal, as Draco successfully charmed her into a giddy pile of mush.

Hermione wondered if she had been placed in Slytherin house all those years ago, would she and Draco been friends, were blood purity not an issue to overcome? She'd always known he was intelligent, although on the surface she would be loath to admit it. But the figures simply didn't lie: It took a sharp wit to come up with such scathing insults, and it was common knowledge that Draco had placed into the top five of their year. Hermione endured countless hours of listening to giggling under the sheets, Lavender, Parvati and the other Gryffindor girls going over just what parts of Malfoy's anatomy they found desirable; in the case of Lavender, everyone found out just how wonderful Draco was in the sack.

Five years previously, Hermione had held the enigma that was Draco Malfoy in the strangest esteem, a mixture of contempt and fascination. Now acquainted with his past, her opinion of the blond was firmly planted in the fascination category, but it didn't fit into her theory that Draco had been sitting across from her, mere inches away, eating a salad with the primness of a princess. It certainly didn't make sense that she was Side-along Apparating her date to her apartment whilst in his arms; the man in question currently looking down upon her, eyes the exact shade of the moon behind him.

"Did you have a good time?" Draco asked, making sure that both of Hermione's feet were firmly planted on the concrete that comprised her front step, so that more "stair mishaps" couldn't occur.

"It was a lovely dinner," Hermione replied breathlessly, feeling a bit faint that his arms were still wrapped tightly around her, the sandalwood scent slowly making its way from her nostrils to ingrain itself in her soul. "I'm glad we got to spend time together."

Draco grinned in response, once again stroking the unruly curl away from where it obscured her eye. "Would you be willing to see me again?" he asked, looking at her intently, seriousness now framing his face.

Hermione giggled. "Well of course I'm going to see you!" she said gaily. "After all, when we reveal the Ministry's duplicity, you'll be front-page news!"

Draco's platinum brow furrowed and it took Hermione a second to realize exactly what type of question he was asking. This epiphany shocked her beyond all belief, but with her heart so desperate to cling upon this beautiful man, it was easy to make a decision.

"Oh!" she squeaked uncomfortably, looking up at her date while her internal temperature continued to skyrocket. "You asked it so politely, I'm afraid I was confused… I would love to be your regular date, Draco."

Draco's brow crinkled as he smiled, although his eyes still looked a little worried. "So, you're totally fine with being my girlfriend? Because I'm fucking terrified."

Hermione laughed to disguise the fact that she was shaking, Draco gently stroking her back to calm her nerves. "Why are you terrified, Draco? It's not like you're proposing or anything…"

Draco nodded as he contemplated her statement. "I agree," he continued softly. "But it's been some time since I've allowed myself to be smitten with a woman. I'm no better than a common prostitute with absolutely no prospects, and Hermione Granger, Golden Girl of Britain, is willing to sully her reputation with the likes of me…"

Hermione clucked her tongue, stepping up and onto his feet so that her face was closer to his pale one. "This reputation you speak of? Draco, if my reputation meant anything to me, I wouldn't have gotten involved in your case in the first place. You may think your life is grim, but I see that despite all your misfortune, you have managed to keep your spirit and drive intact. That is admirable, Draco."

The blond let out a deep sigh and settled his forehead against hers, long eyelashes fluttering closed. "Could you be any more perfect?" he whispered, his grip around her waist intensifying. "This is exactly why I'm so afraid. You are much too good for a ex-Death Eater like me."

Hermione frowned, setting a small hand on his cheek, it conforming to the harsh angle that comprised his bone structure. "Oh Draco," she replied, having never felt affection for anyone to the degree that she felt for this man, right here and now. "You treat women like fragile goddesses, and I wouldn't expect anything different. Can I make up my own mind as to whether I'm too good for you, you arse?"

Draco chuckled, their lips meeting in the most graceful, natural movement that felt like the first step into something magnificent, something beautiful. Sighing into Draco's mouth, Hermione played with the ends of his platinum blond waves before her paramour spun her around, pressing her gently against the front door as his mouth did positively sinful things to every inch of her face. Sucking her plump bottom lip into his mouth and gently nibbling upon the soft skin, Draco succeeded in making Hermione squeal, her hands gripping the soft material of his shirt.

Hermione desperately wished her legs were in a stronger state, because her body longed to be closer to his, to be against the warm form that was causing her to experience more pleasure than she'd had in years. As if reading her mind, Draco picked her up easily, his strong grip on her legs at his waist and the force of the wall keeping her easily hoisted. Hermione rewarded his consideration with a dozen heated kisses, his right hand roaming all over her body, her nipples growing hard through the several layers of clothing.

"Holy fuck, Hermione," he growled in her ear as she pulled at his hair, the carefully combed coiffure turning into irresistible sex hair. Hermione merely kissed back in response, his mouth drifting yet again to give proper attention to her neck and chest. In this moment, Hermione felt like she was going to explode, her heart thudding in her ribcage to a near painful degree, her skin feeling flushed and claustrophobic despite the cold weather on an autumn evening. Her center was relentlessly agitated, and the fact that his hardened erection was mere inches away was evil, evil, evil, a torment, an absolute sin, a travesty—

"Oh!" Hermione breathed as Draco shifted slightly, the irresistible friction of their respective sexes causing them both to suck in a harsh breath.

Draco purred contentedly as his female companion began to rub up against him, responding with a smoldering kiss that prompted Hermione to allow his tongue in. He swirled his tongue around hers languorously, right hand gently tracing the outline of her spine underneath her blouse.

"Draco," Hermione panted, although it came out closer to a whinge. "Inside?"

Draco's eyes rolled back in his head as Hermione rubbed up against him again, her hands caressing his chest. With self-control that Hermione would never imagine herself possessing, he replied with a breathy "if we must", immediately reattaching his lips to her own.

Clutching his head in one hand, Hermione rummaged around in her robe pocket for her wand as they kissed, nearly losing concentration when Draco's fingers dipped under the clasp at the back of her bra. Gripping her wand tightly but not breaking contact with her partner, Hermione whispered the series of unlocking charms upon her front door, Draco immediately barreling through and locating her bedroom. He placed her gently on her bed before joining her, raining little kisses across her cheeks and nose.

With both of his hands now free, Draco made quick work of untucking Hermione's blouse, his calloused palms running over the soft contours of her body. Rendered hopeless to do nothing but kiss, Hermione worshiped Draco's mouth, taking time to explore the part that would be exclusively hers from here on. She felt solace in the fact that Cho didn't allow Draco to kiss her, which made their current ministrations all the more meaningful.

Removing his mouth from Hermione's with a soft "pop", Draco let out a hollow breath, resting his head on her chest and pulling her body closer to his. "Wow," he whispered, Hermione's pulse rate still too fast for her to respond without choking. After a few minutes of recuperation, Draco rose to look at her, the reverent gleam in his grey eyes while surveying her body completely tantalizing.

Raising a hand to push aside his now sweaty fringe, Hermione smiled up at Draco, tracing his lips with her pointer finger. "At least we have chemistry," she joked, which was rewarded by his low chuckle that consequently went straight to her clit. Draco lay down on his back beside her, staring at the ceiling as he finally returned to a state near homeostasis, his pinkie finger wrapped around her own.

Hermione snuggled up close to his side, politely ignoring the prominent erection he still possessed by stretching an arm across his trim middle. Draco responded by clutching her closer, pressing a lengthy kiss to her forehead and settling his chin on top of her head.

"You smell so good," he murmured, Hermione gently rubbing his chest in a circular motion. "Every time you're around me, I'm overwhelmed by the way you smell; it makes it so I can't think clearly."

Hermione laughed softly, pressing a kiss to his neck. "The same goes for you, dear sir. Shall we snuggle a while?"

It was Draco's turn to chuckle, shifting slightly so his body faced hers. "Would you like that?" he asked. "If you're cold, we could utilize one of these blankets…"

Hermione shook her head, turning her body so that her back was towards him. "Just hold me? I do think both of us could use a nap."

Draco gave a sound of agreement, wrapping an arm around her hip and pressing a kiss to the volumes of hair that circled like a halo around her head. "Sweet dreams, my dear," he whispered as Hermione cuddled up closer. "Do try and think of me."

"Of course," she murmured, eyelids drifting closed and allowing her post-snogging haze to take her over. "Goodnight, Draco."

A few hours later, Hermione was jolted awake by the cold, Draco no longer protecting her from the harsh elements. Although the room was tinted the deepest black, she could see her boyfriend perched on the side of the mattress, hands flattening his hair and rubbing his eyelids.

"Leaving so soon?" she asked, causing Draco to swivel in her direction, eyes glinting due to the moonlight that peeked through the window blinds.

"Regretfully so, Hermione," he replied, rebuttoning the top of his shirt, which had become mussed in their little tumble. "I nearly forgot, I'm expected at Cho's tonight. Believe me, I would much rather be with you."

"Be safe," she cautioned, taking his much larger hand in her own, the handcuff glowing in the low light.

Draco chuckled at her response, squeezing her hand back tightly. "Only you," he laughed good-naturedly. "Only you would be fine with the fact that your boyfriend is leaving you to satisfy another woman."

"Sometimes we must do what we do not desire," she replied, getting up on her knees before him on the bed. "I could never be angry with you for that, Draco. Do say hello to your mother when you arrive home, I miss her."

"She misses you too," Draco responded, his face coming more into focus as Hermione's eyes adjusted to the darkness. "I'll pass along the message. Will you owl me when you'd like to see me again?"

"Of course," Hermione replied softly, cupping his face in her hands and planting a sweet kiss upon his lips. "Until we meet again, let a mere kiss suffice."

"A single kiss could never be sufficient after tonight," Draco declared, rising from the bed whilst still holding onto her hands. "But I will cherish it until the next time I am in your presence. Sleep well, dearest Hermione."

Hermione smiled as he turned to leave, watching his strong back disappear into the hallway, followed by the slam and lock of her front door a few seconds later. Crawling into bed and burrowing deep into the bedcovers, she prepared herself for a lengthy night of sleep, dreams full of the shining bright presence of her new paramour.


End file.
